


Lost Prince

by kinkwriter



Series: Lost Prince [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Bardock was a brilliant scientist, F/M, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Trunks has shit to do, You can't tell me otherwise, other pairings but they aren't relevent for like fourty chapters so..., the saiyans live
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-09-23 01:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 188,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17071187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkwriter/pseuds/kinkwriter
Summary: Had he done the right thing when he'd saved them? Would the galaxy be a better place because the saiyans had lived?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should preface this entire fic by saying that I started writing this in 2013. Long before Super. I wrote around 30K back then but Super really reignited my creativity with this story. I added about 150K words over the course of 2018 and fully fleshed the plot out and modified it to include Beerus, Zamasu, and then later some other characters that appeared in Super.
> 
> I've already written out 95% of the fic so I'll be doing my best to update once or twice a week depending on my school schedule. It's going to be a long ride, but I hope you enjoy yourself. :)
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Trunks ate his dinner silently, listening to the happy chatter surrounding him. He’d made it back to the past with Goku and his parents . . . and no one else. The others here were so happy to have their friends back alive. Zamasu was defeated and erased. Their timeline was at peace, but Trunks . . .

He’d lost everything. His family, his world, _Mai_.

They were all dead . . . but that wasn’t quite right either. Perhaps he could have lived with that, but in order to stop Zamasu, the entirety of the multiverse had been erased. They were all just . . . gone. Nothing he’d done had been enough—in the end no one had been _strong_ enough.

They celebrated, because they’d survived, but it hadn’t even been them that defeated Zamasu. It had been that small blue creature—the Omni-King. It had simply erased Zamasu from existence. This being had had the power and Goku had had the means of contacting him, but not until all was lost had the saiyan done so. He didn’t fault Goku for his actions—not really, because there was no malice there . . . and perhaps the Omni-King wasn’t one for fine-tuned annihilation, but rather was more inclined for complete erasure—if he was annoyed, the entire universe suffered for it.

The half-saiyan got up slowly, pushing himself from the table and walked away from the group. He felt the eyes of the others on him as they noticed his departure. They quieted their cheerful banter, but he ignored them. He needed to be alone for a while.

Trunks walked out of the complex and stood beside the time ship. It was all that remained of his world. His eyes slid shut as he contemplated taking the ship back there and letting himself die in the emptiness. Without a second dimension for his soul, he too would be erased.

“You do not honor your people by killing yourself.”

Trunks turned around a single lone figure stood there. The angel’s pale eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as he watched Trunks.

“I can’t honor them at all,” he said hollowly. “They’re _gone."_

Whis’ head tilted. “Does that mean they never existed? Does that mean they would not still wish for your happiness?”

Trunks swallowed and turned away.

The angel sighed. “This lost feeling of yours will pass in time. Unlike the gods, mortals tend to forget the terrible details of their pasts. Your pain will lessen. It will never fade completely, but it doesn’t need to consume you either.”

 _Consume . . . that was the right word,_ he thought. The bitter sadness pulsed in his mind like a festering wound.

“I can’t feel anything but the agony,” Trunks said after a while. “I can’t stay here, either. It’s just . . . just too much.”

Whis hummed to himself. “I imagine your father suffered similarly. His planet was also destroyed leaving him in the hands of Frieza during his formative years.”

Trunks had never known the Vegeta of his own timeline, but he remembered what this Vegeta had been like when he’d come back the second time. Had the loss of Vegeta-sei really been the impetus of his father’s rage and that path of self-destruction that he’d been on? Was that in Trunks’ own future?

“Your father,” Whis began quietly, “Nearly lost everything because of his own self-loathing for not being strong enough to defeat Frieza and then Goku. He thought that only by being the strongest could he protect the things he’d come to cherish.”

Whis looked back towards the terrace where the group still gathered. Vegeta’s arm was casually draped over the back of Bulma’s chair while they watched the younger Trunks and Goten make small ki fireworks. Trunks followed his gaze and while he did not begrudge them their happiness, it was still hard to look at after everything.

“His pain and hatred has diminished over time—as yours will too. You merely need to find something else to that is more important to you—something different to focus on.”

If what Whis was saying was true, then it had taken his father years to move past Vegeta-sei’s destruction. He’d felt the way Trunks felt now . . . for _decades._ It was nearly as painful to imagine such a fate for his father as it was to feel it himself.

“I wish . . . I wish he’d never had to experience that.”

“You could always change it, I suppose,” Whis said lightly.

Trunks blinked in confusion before Whis smiled serenely and looked towards the time machine. “You have the necessary tools and the necessary power to go anywhere and do anything you’d like. You probably wouldn’t exist, of course, in that time, but your father would never feel as you do now.”

Trunks swallowed uncomfortably. Could he do that? Could he save the saiyan race and condemn his parents to never meeting? A saiyan prince would have little need for a weak human wife—and who even knew if the saiyans were normally monogamous or not. It wasn’t exactly a subject that had ever come up in their discussions of the androids, Cell, or Zamasu.

Perhaps that was okay, though. Just because they weren’t together didn’t mean that either of them couldn’t be happy with other people. Trunks looked back at the terrace and saw Bulma whispering something to Vegeta and the subtle smirk that appeared on the man’s face. They would still be happy here and his younger self would continue to exist with powerful protectors to keep him safe.

He hoped they would be happy.

Trunks stepped forward while Whis remained stationary. The half-breed climbed up into the ship and looked back just as Beerus appeared by Whis’ side.

Those slitted yellow eyes were amused. “See you ‘round, kid,” the destroyer god said before the pair disappeared and the glass bubble of the time machine closed.


	2. Chapter 2

####  _ Vegeta-Sei - Age 739 _

His father had never been terribly verbose when it came to talk about his homeworld, but one of the things he’s always said was that the sky reminded him of a battlefield. Trunks just stared for several seconds as his ship blinked into existence in the rust red sky of the planet. And it wasn’t only the sky, but the land itself that shared a shade of crimson that made one think of old dried blood.

Trunks shook off his thoughts and lowered his power level, lest he be detected too soon. Frieza was already there, his ship orbiting low over the planet and his father, the prince . . . was already aboard. The king would be making his way towards the vessel soon to retrieve the prince and Goku should already be well off the planet by now.

He needed to end this quickly so as to keep the king from being the first casualty of the impending genocide. The time ship landed, and he quickly launched himself from the ground. the half-breed made his way high up into the atmosphere, far enough that no one would see him floating up there. Frieza’s ship orbited not far from him, and he allowed a bit of his power to show as he flew towards it.

The sky was empty except for the round bug-like shape of the command ship. It would be simplest to destroy it, however the prince was there so he’d need to draw the lizard out. 

“Frieza! You will not take the prince! Come out and face me!” he called only a touch dramatically,  but Frieza wasn’t the type to respond to anything but a drastic declaration. Trunks was reminded of the first time he’d faced Frieza, back when he’d been eager to test himself on a new opponent. It was only a few seconds later that someone emerged from the top of the ship. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't Frieza, but a large pink blob with dark lips and a nasty attitude.

The sentient smirked, his lips pulled wide in a nauseous display of amusement. “You don’t look like a monkey but I bet you’ll die  _ mewling _ like one.”

Trunk didn’t even bother powering up, he raised a finger and fired a thin stream of energy that the alien could not have hoped to avoid. It pierced through his armor and blubbery hide like a hot knife through butter and the alien could only choke as his heart stopped and he fell back into the ship.

Trunks lowered his hand back to his side. “Sending your lackeys out to fight your battles, Frieza? I suppose I should’t expect better from a sniveling coward.”

There was nothing but the sound of the howling wind for a couple of minutes before arcosian tyrant, along with a few other toadies, exited the ship and came to float before him. Frieza was front and center in his first form, leaning comfortably back in his hover chair. On either side there was a good looking green alien as well as a dark purple fish-like alien. He recognized the green one as Zarbon from his mother’s stories but did not recognize the other. 

He hadn’t thought that it would affect him, but seeing the aliens who would spend the next twenty years torturing his father was enough to make his blood boil.

Frieza spoke quietly in almost seductive tones. “And what are you, exactly? I don’t recognize your species but after this, I’ll make a point to find out and make a _personal_ visit to your world. I think slavery or extinction will be an adequate response for your insolence.”

Trunks kept his face indifferent. “You’re looking at my planet. I am a descended from the greatest saiyan warrior this planet has ever, and will ever, see.” Frieza’s eye twitched so Trunks continued. “And I’m your worst nightmare.”

Frieza had only to let out an annoyed growl and the two minions launched themselves at him. It wasn’t really a fight because he let both of them hit him several time across his face and body, all the while he didn’t move an inch and his eyes stayed locked with Frieza. He let it go on for a few more seconds but ended it when he felt a few strands of his hair rip from his scalp as Zarbon tried anything he could think of to even get a reaction from the young saiyan.

Trunks finally looked towards the nuisances and they both tried to back away but didn’t get far before Trunk had punched his fist clean through both of their chests. They hung there in mid-air blinking before falling from the sky and landing on the planet below in unrecognizable masses of muscle and bone. The lavender-haired warrior  powered up enough for the blood on his hands to turn to ash which quickly flew off in the wind of the atmosphere. 

“I’ll give you one chance to leave this planet and never return, Frieza," he said, his eyes never blinking as they stared the arcosian down. "The saiyans will no longer be slaves to the Arcosian Empire.”

Frieza lifted his finger and Trunks immediately recognized the growing ball of light for what it was. His head tilted. He’d rather not kill Frieza as of yet, but Vegeta-sei would not be destroyed this time.

The ball grew larger and Frieza hissed out. “Useless slaves are  _ dead _ slaves.” And with that Frieza threw the ball towards him. 

_ They never learn, _ he thought.

Trunks looked down at the capital below and he could hear the screaming of its people even from here as they saw what was happening and their scouters exploded from the massive amounts of power being generated above them. He would not allow it to hit the ground. He easily caught the energy ball and halted its descent. Trunks slowly floated back up until he was once again level with Frieza. The arcosian's jaw was hanging open in surprise and horror.

Trunks felt his face twisting into a cruel sneer. “Excuse me, did you drop this?”

Frieza growled threateningly and just as he did the first time Trunks fought him, he fired off a single energy blast that caused the planet destroyer to explode over the saiyan. The energy washed over Trunks as he looked below to make sure that the wave of power would not damage the city too badly. A few of the taller spires of the palace exploded but nothing too substantial.

The first time around, he had allowed Frieza a chance to gloat. He’d been young and somewhat theatrical about his power. After being continuously beaten by the androids, it was a welcome change to be the top dog in a fight.  This time, Frieza only had time to pull his lips into a smirk before Trunks appeared before him. The alien let out a harsh gasp and reared backwards from the half-breed. His hover chair had been destroyed in the explosion and he seemed even smaller without it. Frieza was little more than an ant in his first form compared to the warrior before him and he knew it.

The arcosian shook his head in disbelief. “What . . . what are you?”

Trunks phased out and was instantly only a few feet from Frieza. The alien flinched, but stood his ground. Trunks was mildly impressed as he could nearly  _ taste _ the arcosian’s fear. His lips spread into a smug smile reminiscent of his bloodline as his hair began to float up towards the rust-colored sky. The soft strands clumped into the familiar spikes of the saiyan race—only his hair wasn’t dark. He could see the glow of his super saiyan crown reflected in the saucer-wide eyes of his enemy. 

“I told you before, Frieza,” he said softly. “I am the fear that drove you to try and destroy this planet.”

Frieza shook his head in denial. “It’s not possible . . . Super . . . Saiyan.”

Trunks raised his chin and smirked in a very Vegeta-like fashion. “Yes.”

Frieza’s eyes widened but before he could breathe another word, Trunks grasped the purple alien’s throat with one hand and his right arm with the other. Without ceremony or warning, he ripped the arcosian emperor’s arm clean from his body.  The lizard screeched in pain as Trunks dropped the amputated arm onto the planet below. He released Frieza and watched as violet blood spilled from the gushing wound. Had Trunks used a ki blast to separate the arm, the heat would have cauterized the wound, but having simply ripped it off, Frieza could very well die from simple blood loss.

The arcosian was, at first, petrified in fear and pain—hanging there looking down in the direction that his arm had been dropped with wide bloodshot eyes. His mouth hung open in shock, unintelligible sounds leaking from him as he tried to process what had just happened. After a few seconds, the fear seemed to overtake Frieza and he turned and flew as quickly as he could into space where his blood would not be beholden to gravity. He was almost there when he heard the final parting words.

“If you return, I will wipe you and your parasitic family from existence.”

Trunks watched as the alien flew away in panic and pain. He normally would have killed Frieza but in doing so, Cooler would be the new emperor of the Arcosian Empire and that little rodent was worse than his brother. But more importantly, it was the arcosians that would keep Babidi in check until Trunks could get there and destroy him.

Trunks felt the saiyans beginning to make their way towards his location. He felt the king leading the charge to investigate and quickly flew away, blasting by the squad so swiftly that they only felt the rush of his power, but couldn’t actually see him. The group powered up, looking for the threat, but when nothing revealed itself they resumed their mission towards the ship. Trunks could not help reaching out to find his father’s ki. He’d only be a boy now and his power far smaller than what Trunks was used to.

He felt the king finding and rescuing the prince. Trunks smiled, taking in a deep breath of the slightly astringent air of the saiyan homeworld. He landed beside the time ship and took one last look around the arid planet. In this timeline, his father would never know the pain of living under the thumb of the lizard tyrant. 

But Frieza wasn’t the only thing out there.

Trunks thought over all the places and people he needed to see. His work was done here but the other threats that hid themselves would needed to be dealt with. If there is one thing he’d learned from Cell, it’s that it is best to nip potential threats in the bud before they had a chance to become a problem.  It was as he was formulating his plan that he realized that the overwhelming pain he’d felt with the loss of his timeline had lessened. It was still there, but he had so much to do—so many other things to work through. Was this what Whis meant by finding another goal to focus on?

Perhaps the angel had been right. What little guilt Trunks felt with all the changes he would make dwindled. His decision had been selfish—he’d all but erased the Trunks of this timeline, but he had no regrets. His future would never come to pass and another one—a better one, he hoped—would take its place. 

He powered on the ship and said a goodbye to the planet. He’d be forced to return one day, he was sure. Frieza was unlikely to wait around in fear forever. His pride wouldn’t allow him to cower away from the saiyans indefinitely. For now, the warning would have to do.

Trunks’ ship winked from existence as he typed in what he hoped was the right set of coordinates. He’d had to do quite a bit of extrapolation based on Goku’s description along with the location of Namek, but he was proven correct when the ship appeared in the atmosphere of a planet.

Yardrat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PLEASE READ:** I felt the events between this chapter and the next and all the things Trunks does wasn’t necessarily the most riveting read because he’s not really interacting with any main characters beyond a couple of villains that will die fairly quickly. The basic gist is that he learns a few techniques on Yardrat(including instant transmission) before going out into the universe to hunt down Babidi and destroy Majin Buu. 
> 
> He then goes to Namek and uses the Namekian dragon balls to locate the final super dragon ball(the one that was a planet in the super series). He wishes for the ball to be made smaller, around the size of an earth dragon ball, and then wishes for the ball to be hidden in the halls of the omni-king. He doesn’t want to destroy the ball completely, but he’s chosen the best place the hide it that he can think of where Zamasu will never get his hands on it and thus won’t be able to make his wishes. Trunks then returns to Earth in Age 756 just before the 23rd World Martial Arts Tournament. He murders Dr. Gero and his experiments. Neither Android 18 nor 17 are there. He meets Goku at the tournament and they become friends, but he doesn’t help Goku to defeat Piccolo Jr.
> 
> Last thing: Some of you may have noticed some things that aren't quite right. Things from the old dubs that have been corrected by Akira Toriyama over time. I'll be honest with you, I'm a really really old school fan. I watched the ocean dubs on TV back in the 90s so my basis for a lot of things were those dubs. People like the arcosians and Bardock's status as a scientist—I know they aren't right. I am aware of this, but this story is very different from canon so just take it as an alternate universe where these things are true. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't read the author note for the last chapter, please go back and do so. I skipped a few things in the timeline because they were straight up boring and not vital to the plot. It's just a short explanation of what Trunks did to prevent some stuff from happening. This story is already 170K without that filler.
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####  **_Earth - Age 764_ **

“Trunks!”

The lavender haired warrior looked up from his kata positions to see Goku land in front of him. He’d felt the other warrior approaching, but he still smiled and waved as his friend came into view.

“Hey, Goku! It’s been a while!” he called as Goku landed beside him

The dark-haired saiyan clapped him on the back. “Yeah, Chichi keeps me pretty busy with the farming these days.”

Trunks nodded in understanding. They’d kept up their training and Goku was far stronger than he’d been before—strong enough that he felt it was unfair to enter—and win—too many tournaments like he used to. The last eight years had been good to Trunks. The Earth was at peace which was an experience that he’d rarely encountered in his timeline.

But he didn’t allow it to make him soft—not like he had before Zamasu. No, he trained and trained and _trained._ Kami had been especially kind and allowed him to use the hyperbolic time chamber every few weeks. He didn’t stay in there the full day—a few hours at most, but it was the only place he knew of where he could reach the full height of his power without detection.

Trunks wished to be prepared for enemies, but he did not want to goad any would-be world—or universe—conquerors by flaunting his power. He’d had time to think over the history of this planet and the saiyans. As Goku and Vegeta had gotten stronger, their enemies had risen up in response. The androids and Cell had been created to overcome Goku, and Zamasu’s hatred of mortals had reached a boiling point while observing the battles between Goku, Vegeta and their various enemies.

The half-breed had been careful over the years to never power up any farther than he absolutely had to, and when it came to Goku, he’d advised the same. The other saiyan had been somewhat reluctant at first—he loved being able to fight his heart out against worthy adversaries, but Trunks’ warnings and eventually a show of power in the hyperbolic time chamber had been enough bring the younger man around.

“You here to spar?” Trunks asked.

Goku smiled. “Well, not today, unfortunately. Chichi wants me back home soon, but maybe tomorrow we can do a serious bout!”

It was part of the deal that Trunks would fight Goku as often as the other man wanted, but when they really got into it, they tended to tear entire continents apart. Those fights would last for hours so the pair had taken to going off world when they wanted to have a serious battle.

“But maybe a light spar would be okay. I’m mostly here playing messenger since you don’t have a phone.”

Trunks chuckled as he nodded. The pair made their way into Trunks’ small home. He lived like a hermit out in the sticks, making money every few years by entering and winning martial arts tournaments. He and Goku never entered the same ones and Trunks didn’t really need the money as he had other ventures that generated income.

Trunks wiped off the sweat that had accumulated over his body before grabbing a couple of bottles of water and handing one off. He took a deep swig as he leaned against the kitchen counter and looked towards the other saiyan.

“So what’s up?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

Goku smiled. “Well, the old gang is getting back together for a bit of a reunion and I was told to make sure you come along. Bulma misses you.”

Trunks chuckled good-naturedly. He wanted to visit the blue-haired woman more often, but sometimes it was hard to be around her. He didn't think of her as his mother and hadn't for years, but even after all this time, small things would stir feelings best forgotten. More importantly, though, they'd met at the 23rd World Martial Arts tournament and he’d been somewhat horrified when she’d showed an . . . interest in him. He vividly remembered Yamucha glaring daggers at him, even while Bulma smiled coyly.

Thankfully, the crush had quickly changed to something closer to a sibling affection, but he could never look at her and think of her as a sister. She treated him like a brother, but he didn’t feel entirely comfortable filling that role either—especially when she asked to cut his hair or tried giving him clothes.

It was too close to the memories of his mother.

It didn’t help that the pair had constantly been mistaken as siblings when they were younger. Trunks was now thirty-one years old and had been training with Goku for the last eight years after he’d finished his tasks and journey through the Milky Way Galaxy.

The lavender haired warrior took another drink of his water before shrugging his shoulders. “She just misses getting to dress me in whatever is fashionable.”

Goku laughed. “Hey, you let her do it. You never say ‘no’ to her.”

Oh, he’d said ‘no’ plenty of times but it usually went in one ear and out the other. There had been many a time over the years that Trunks had been shanghaied into escorting Bulma as she shopped, and she hardly missed an opportunity to press the trendy styles onto him. The stuff was useless to him, though, and he’d been forced to say as much. None of it could withstand even the briefest training session and power-ups. She’d listened—taken his words in stride and these days, she’d been more inclined towards modifying his training gear to fit her aesthetic.

It was a compromise he could live with.

“Whatever. Yeah, I’ll be there. I kinda miss everyone too. You bringing the munchkin?”

Goku smiled brightly. “Of course. I want him to meet everyone. Chichi is gonna have herself a spa day or something so she is happy to have us out of the house. I keep telling her that if she let me train him, we’d be out of the house more often but she says she wants him to be a scholar and not a hooligan.”

Trunks raised a brow at the words and at Goku’s rather uncaring tone. Having been called a husband-thief by the woman before for taking Goku out to train, he wasn’t surprised by the harsh words but he was annoyed at the lack of respect for the occupation that put food on her table and kept their planet safe.

He didn’t blame her, though. She didn’t know what went on past her front yard, much less about the struggles in the universe beyond their planet. Trunks made it a point to keep an eye on Vegeta-sei and Frieza to make sure the lizard kept well away from the saiyan homeworld, but he’d hoped to spend the rest of his days on Earth and well away from universe-impacting battles.

The fighting cultures of the many warrior races and beings, bred an obsessive desire to become stronger and more powerful. Trunks had long since decided that he would keep his power hidden for as long as he could in order to stave off any would-be challengers that were sure to crawl out of the shadows as the first sniff of a fight.

It didn’t help that when he’d finally achieved that god-like power that his father wore like a second skin, that his hair hadn’t been blue like the other saiyans . . . no it had been a decidedly different color that he’d seen before and wished never to see again. He had no explanation for why he’d looked the way he did, but if everything went according to his plans, that form would never have any cause to show itself in this timeline.

That was, of course, if they could continue to keep the saiyans at bay. For the last three years, scouts had arrived sporadically in order to document the planet and its inhabitants. Trunks had taken out the first one himself without disturbing the other earth fighters, but Goku had caught on fairly quickly after that.

He was a saiyan, after all, and loved to fight. Trunks didn't hold it against him, but it seemed that his days of peace were rapidly coming to an end. The last few times, Trunks had been very careful to destroy the scouter and ship before he sent Goku to fight the saiyan. It would help to educate the younger man on the fighting technique used by the Saiyan Empire. He would need the knowledge.

Goku always offered them the chance to live if they surrendered, but so far none had taken him up on his offer. As a result, the Earth had a growing reputation in the intergalactic community as a deadzone planet. Warriors went there and none returned.

Warriors such as those headed to Earth even now.  Kami had warned them of the threat months ago, but now they were close enough that even Trunks and Goku could feel their energy. They were still light years away, but their destination was obvious.

Trunks licked his lips, looking away as the air became serious. “You’ve felt them, haven’t you?” he asked.

Goku nodded, his expression becoming grave. “Yeah. It’s not just one, this time, but I can’t tell how many.”

The lavender haired warrior extended his senses out. He felt them. At first they felt like one big tangled mass, but he was able to separate them out one by one—isolate their energy. His eye twitched as something familiar and yet unknown washed over him.

“Five,” he said after a moment, ignoring the strange churning in his stomach. “Either way, it shouldn’t be any sort of problem for you.”

Goku’s face lost the seriousness and he laughed. “Man I hope they put up a decent fight this time.”

Trunks snorted. He wasn’t that worried about a few elite saiyans. They were stronger than Raditz or Nappa or the others had been in the original timeline because of the specific way they trained on planet Vegeta with its intense gravity, but hardly a threat.

“The rules don’t change if they do. Scouters and ships first. Don’t forget.”

The dark haired saiyan nodded. “Yeah, I know. Don’t let them see or scan us or Earth will be crawling with enemies.”

Trunks nodded. “Anyway, let me know when you want to get together and I’ll be there. Kame House, right?”

Goku nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Bulma was thinking maybe the last Saturday of this month if that works for you.”

Trunks cracked a smile. “I’ll have to check my busy schedule of chopping firewood and meditation but I think I can squeeze you guys in.”

Goku smiled. “Awesome. Then, I’ll see you later, Trunks!”

And with that the other saiyan took off into the sky. He landed smoothly on Nimbus and rode the cloud away. Trunks shook his head and headed back inside. He closed the door silently and stood in the foyer. They wouldn’t be able to hide forever. Sooner or later, everything would come to a head and that would be the end of his idyllic life.

Trunks looked into the mirror. His hair had gotten long again, brushing his shoulders. His mother had never liked it long like that, and neither did this timeline’s Bulma. Her twitchy fingers seemingly produced scissors from thin air whenever she saw him.

His father in the other timeline had told him that he liked the longer hair because it made him look older and more like a warrior only concerned with battle and not with his looks. Trunks had thought nothing of it at the time but after that, every time he went to cut it himself, those words played over and over in his mind. It was rare moment in the hyperbolic time chamber where they actually had a conversation and his father had looked proud of him.

The Vegeta of this time would be around thirty five years old. A bit older than Trunks but still far from a fatherly age. It saddened the lavender haired warrior that he would probably not get the type relationship he desired from Vegeta here and more than likely, he had ensured that his own existence would never occur but it would be worth it in the end. The people here would not face the same horror and end to their existence.

 

####  **_Vegeta-sei_ **

The king slammed his fist down onto the armrest of his throne. “You have had over twenty years and you still give me nothing!”

The noise echoed through the cavernous throne room. Bardock had known this dressing down was coming and he was vaguely thankful that only the bare minimum of his peers were there to witness it. Still, he needed to act the part.

“With all due respect, sire, Vegeta-sei now has the most complete species database in the known galaxy—”

The king quickly cut him off. “None of which contain the genetic makeup of the _one_ saiyan who could defeat Frieza!” King Vegeta paused and grimaced. “That little freak is growing bolder every year. Taking more and more of our territory thinking we have lost the protection of the savior. He or his people need to be found.”

Bardock could offer no platitudes. He _did_ know which planet the savior was on but he would never say. And as the head of the confidential project tasked with locating for the half-breed fighter, he’d chosen a spiral-like search pattern to investigate the location of the planet. They hadn’t even come close to Earth. Kakarot would remain hidden for now, but time was running short.

The scientist said nothing and after a moment of silence the king spoke again. “Leave us.”

Bardock did not look up as the guards and advisors walked out of the throne room. The door echoed as it closed leaving them alone. He hated how his heart rate sped up slightly and the way his knuckles trembled as they rested on the stone floor in a bow of submission.

His eyes had yet to leave the intricate pattern etched into the marble, but he could not stop the slight flinch as the king stood up. Bardock was acutely aware of the soft rustling of Vegeta’s cape as he descended the steps from the dais down to the main floor.

“Stand up.”

Bardock swallowed and hesitated. The king never missed an opportunity to try and push him around and his favorite setting was the throne room. The history and grandeur of the room was like a bat to the back of his head, reminding the third-class of whom it was that he was speaking to. Somehow, his legs were working and he stood up, though he did not meet the eyes of his king . . . until a hand came under his chin and lifted his head up.

The king was giving him _that_ look again. “I believe I told you to get re-tested.”

Bardock sighed at the old argument. It explained why Vegeta had dismissed the others. The king would never discuss this before the guard or anyone else who would gossip.

“I know what you would do if I was made first or elite class,” he said after a few seconds.

The king chuckled. “I see you’ve stopped protesting your power. Progress at last.”

Bardock’s brow furrowed into a glare. “Sire, I should return to my duties—”

“You’ll go nowhere unless I say so. ”

The scientist visibly baulked. “I fail to see what purpose a re-test would serve in my ability to do my job.”

Vegeta leaned in close. “Should I _detail_ to you exactly what services you render to me—”

“Stop,” the scientist said quickly, stepping back.

The king’s lips pulled into a familiar smirk. “Get the re-test and then you can stop me.”

Bardock shook his head in exasperation. “I highly doubt that even as an elite that I would be able to say anything.”

Vegeta raised a brow. “No, but as my mate, you could say whatever you please.”

“You can not take a low-born third class scientist as a consort,” Bardock said with tired sigh.

The king narrowed his eyes as he moved closer. He reached out and took Bardock’s hand into his own. “That is not for you to decide on,” he said quietly.

The third-class met his eyes as he pulled his hand away. “But it is. Being the lover of a king is not my destiny.”

 _Not when you would kill my son_ . . .

Bardock did not allow any of his fear to show on his face—the same fear that had haunted him for two decades.

“It’s far too late for that now, isn’t it?” the king asked. “You share my bed often enough—even if you slip away like a thief in the night.”

Bardock took a step away, his eyes resolutely not looking at the way the king unconsciously reached out for him. “I ask that you not call for me anymore, my king,” he said softly.

Vegeta said nothing as the scientist turned to leave and he knew that the king would not heed his request. Vegeta was quite possibly the most selfish and greedy person that Bardock had ever met. Perhaps to be a king, one needed such a quality, but he was certain that lusting after a third-class scientist—even one that had become a powerful figure within the government—was not a typical trait. He couldn’t help but think back to their first meeting. To think that such a small thing so long go had ballooned into a mountain of secrets that threatened to destroy everything.

 

####  **_Vegeta-Sei, Age 739, Two Months after Frieza’s Attack_ **

Bardock punched the droid in front of him, causing the machine to slide back before moving forward again. He did a roundhouse kick and the droid beeped dramatically indicating a broken bone had it been a live subject. He didn’t have much opportunity to spar with other saiyans and even less inclination.

After what many had deemed a complete mental break, he’d left his home, lab, and grants to set up a small home out in one of the rare oases in the sea of sand and rock that was Vegeta-sei. He kept himself well away from the capital or any of the other cities on the planet. He had no way of predicting when he’d get a vision and the last thing he needed was to remind anyone of “Crazy Bardock”.

Not when he was so close to leaving.

The third-class merely needed to wait for Raditz to come back from his latest purge. Only a few more days and Bardock could take his oldest and leave Vegeta-sei to reunite with Kakarot. He’d intended to leave sooner, but Raditz hadn’t wanted to leave his squad in a lurch when they’d committed to a job. He’d promised to humor his sire after he returned.

But then Bardock had had another vision—one that left him shaken and uncertain. Saturated colors, breathy moans, and unfamiliar pleasures had all but overcome his mind. He’d been _with_ someone, but he hadn’t been able to see who the other person was—only the blinding orange light of the fire and the geometric pattern painted and carved into the walls.

“Bardock, son of Kartock.”

The scientist started violently at the voice, turning around hastily to see who had come to his home. He wasn’t wearing a scouter and he’d been lost in thought—a weakness that had his visitor raising a brow. He was a hulking saiyan with a patch of hair on the top of his head and a thin mustache. The man's massive stature allowed him to almost entirely fill up the doorway to his shop.

Bardock recognized him, though he’d never met the man. “Nappa, right? The general?”

The saiyan nodded. “I’ve come on official business on behalf of the crown.”

Bardock raised a brow. “What does the royal family want with a third-class nobody?”

Nappa’s eyes narrowed slightly as he pressed the button on his scouter. The familiar beeping sounded through the room as the eyepiece scanned him, and the readings seemed to stoke an interest in Nappa.

“But you’re not third-class, are you?” he asked. “Your power level puts you well into the second class. You haven’t requested re-testing, though.”

The scientist shrugged. “Not much point. My life won’t change much by going from lowest to second lowest.”

Nappa tilted his head in understanding. “Be that as it may, the king has requested your presence in the palace.”

“Again, why?” he asked, still not moving.

The general seemed entirely nonplussed. “My place is not to question my king’s wants but to obey him.”

“But you know why,” Bardock said, finally moving and powering down the sparring droid.

Nappa said nothing in response, but his expression said that he did indeed know what this was about. It must have been important for the king to have General Nappa of all people fly all the way out to the middle of nowhere to pick up a lowly scientist.

Bardock waved him away. “Fine. Give me a few minutes to clean up so I don’t go before the king smelling like a goat.”

Nappa nodded and so Bardock stepped back into his house. He quickly showered and changed into a set of clean armor. When he stepped back into the shop, the general seemed to be examining the vast array of inventions strewn around the room. It was then that Bardock realized that Nappa was alone. He hadn’t brought anyone else—something else that made the scientist slightly suspicious. The king had sent his most trusted general without a squad to retrieve a crazy third-class.

_What exactly is going on here?_

He followed closely behind the general as they flew towards Capital City. The palace soon came into view and Nappa relayed their arrival to the watchtowers that surrounded that sprawling complex. His attention was so focused on the route Nappa was taking him through that he nearly missed the massive swaths of land being marked and cordoned off around the palace.

They were planning to build something, he realized. Something big.

The pair landed and Nappa said nothing to him or anyone else as he lead the third-class inside and through the opulent hallways deep into the center of the imperial palace. They bypassed the areas reserved for official meetings—the throne room, conference halls, and formal sitting rooms. Perhaps he’d offended someone—someone with a modicum of power that could send Nappa out to retrieve him. Perhaps the person wanted the pleasure of murdering Bardock in person rather than having someone take care of it out in the desert.

Theories and plans for escape began swirling in his mind, but even they came to screeching halt when Nappa finally stopped before a nondescript door. The general entered a code into the lock and the door opened to reveal an informal sitting room of sorts with sofas placed in the center facing one another.

“The king will be here momentarily. If you’ll just sit down.”

Bardock nearly turned around and ran out of there as quickly as he could, but as his eyes met Nappa’s, he knew he wouldn’t get far. He let out a tired sigh before stepping inside. The door shut with a loud snapping noise and the scientist flinched. He wasn’t normally so cowardly, even with his relatively low power level, but the things he’d seen inside his mind—the secrets that whispered to him in the dark. His fists clenched as he looked around the room. There were no windows or other doors. No way to easily escape.

The only thing that caught his attention was the pattern etched into the plaster of the walls. A familiar geometric print shadowed his mind and he approached it, hand held out to touch the shape, when the door opened once more, startling him.

His hand dropped back to his side as he turned and faced the newcomer.

Bardock immediately dropped into a bow as he spotted a familiar flame of hair. “My king,” he said in greeting.

His eyes were on the ground, and so he only heard the swish of the king’s cape and the tap of his shoes as he approached. Two others followed closely behind and he raised his eyes just high enough to identify their armor. Scientists rather than executioners.

“Sit down,” the king said flatly and Bardock finally looked up. He recognized one of the scientists as Lettis of House Gord. He and Bardock had worked together under Paragus some years ago in the genetics office until Bardock had left to work on the energy beam that mimicked the moon—a career defining moment for him. Lettis had been one of the first to comm him his congratulations. Bardock didn’t recognize the woman, but she seemed rather young and probably hadn’t yet worked in the genetics office during his time there.

He gave one last shallow bow of his head before sitting on the sofa opposite the king. The two scientist stood behind the back of the furniture and neither met his eyes. King Vegeta held his hand out and Lettis placed a data pad into the outstretched fingers. The king didn’t say anything as he scrolled through whatever information he was looking at on the screen.

Bardock nearly jumped when King Vegeta finally spoke. “Two months ago, you were reported to be running through the streets screaming that Frieza would destroy us all. You said this to anyone who would listen before abruptly changing your story and saying that a saiyan with purple hair would deliver us from our servitude and protect us from Frieza.”

The third-class gaped at the man. Of all the things he could have been brought here for, _that_ was perhaps the most unexpected. “I—I . . . Sir, these were obviously the ravings of a mad man. I had just returned from a mission and my squad was killed and I was still experiencing side effects from the regen tank. Please do not take anything I said with any sort of seriousness.”

Bardock rarely partook in purging missions anymore, but after a member of his former squad had been killed, Toma asked him to fill in temporarily for old time’s sake. He still wasn’t sure if he regretted it or not.

The king looked up from the pad, eyeing him speculatively. “And yet, Frieza _did_ attempt to destroy us and we _were_ saved by a warrior with purple hair. All just as you said.”

His eyes widened. The crown had yet to release any information about whoever it was that had fended Frieza off. While there were rumors of a ‘savior’—a super saiyan that had saved them, the official story was that Frieza feared the might of the saiyan race and he’d just fled. Frieza and the arcosians had been silent on the entire affair so no one really knew what had happened . . . no one except the king.

This . . . this could be bad.

“I don’t know what to say. I was delirious at the time,” he said, mind racing for any excuse that would get him out of there. He had seen the future—had seen what Kakarot would become but only if the purple haired warrior was allowed to keep him hidden and to train him. Bardock had hoped to be there to assist his son—to raise him and let him know that he hadn’t been abandoned.

He was only _days_ away from leaving.

The king looked back down at the pad. “The warrior was a saiyan with incredible power. He defeated Frieza, but there are no known saiyans with purple hair.”

The third-class began to feel a thread of fear working its way down his spine. Why was the king telling him this? Why was he divulging dangerous secrets to a crazy third-class? Something was very wrong.

Bardock swallowed. “How can you be sure he is a saiyan at all?”

King Vegeta’s expression was bland. “We recovered a few strands of his hair from the corpse of Frieza’s man, Zarbon. The DNA is saiyan and an as-yet unidentified other species. But that’s not the most interesting part.” Bardock was almost afraid to ask but the king continued without his input. “The saiyan DNA is a very special kind of DNA. I would recognize it anywhere because I designed it myself.”

The third-class took a breath. Everyone knew that the Prince Vegeta was created in a lab—the first royal to be birthed under such conditions. Until now, only the third and second classes used artificial insemination and gestation for their children. The Noble Houses preferred to jealously guard their genetics and only breed amongst themselves.

“You created a second prin—” Bardock began, but he was quickly cut off.

“No. I did not.”

The king’s tone told Bardock to keep quiet. It was obvious that the King was confused by the situation and saiyans were known to become irrationally irritated when they were confused. “You are one of Vegeta-sei’s top geneticists—recommended to me, even by Lettis, here. I want you to find out what the other species that was combined with royal saiyan DNA to produce this fighter.”

“Sire, I—I’m afraid I am not fit for such an important task. I resigned my post at the genetic office years ago. I believe Paragus of House Lyshee would be best able to attend to you—”

“Paragus is dead.”

Bardock’s jaw nearly dropped open. He’d heard nothing about his former colleague's demise. Paragus wasn’t some low-born saiyan, either. He was a scion of a prestigious house! Bardock's eyes moved up to Lettis and this time the man met his gaze and subtly shook his head.

 _Do not ask,_ those eyes said.

“Ah. I apologize for my mistake, but I already have an obligation elsewhere.”

“Somewhere off planet?”

Bardock looked up in surprise. “How do you . . .”

The king hummed disinterestedly. “You wiped out yours and your son’s savings to purchase two pods that would be entirely your own. No trackers, no monitors, no one to come looking for you. You’d essentially disappear. Tell me . . . where are you planning to go?”

He felt the blood drain from his face. “I . . . I’m sorry. My—my head . . .”

The king snorted, looking entirely unimpressed. “I don’t care. Your medical records show you to be in perfect health. Can you do it or not?”

Bardock swallowed uncomfortably. “Sire, trying to identify one race in the universe would be an almost literal needle in a haystack.”

King Vegeta nodded, seeming to have expected such an answer. “You will have the authority to send scouts to search for the right planet. It cannot be too far seeing as the fighter is half saiyan and has had contact with this planet.”

The scientist bit his lip. “Sire, while serving my king is—is my pleasure, I really can’t—”

“Of course you can. Besides, you seem so . . . _attached_ to your offspring.”

Bardock felt the air leave his lungs as the king continued.

“Raditz, isn’t it?" he asked with a cruel twist of his lips. "Your oldest applied to our officer’s academy some months ago and he was just accepted—the first third-class to achieve such a thing. He signed an agreement when he applied and when he returns he will be officially drafted. You are, of course, under no obligation to remain on planet, after all you weren't conscripted, but _he_ must stay.”

For a second, the act dropped and Bardock glared at the king. He expected to be struck down for daring to do such a thing, but Vegeta merely raised a brow and smirked smugly. The man knew an act when he saw one, apparently.

“I will do as my king commands,” he ground out.

He could work with this. He couldn’t help Kakarot in person, but he would hold off the discovery of his son and the savior for as long as he could. Earth was much further than the king thought and it would take years, perhaps decades to search the planets in between Vegeta-sei and there. The journey all by itself was a bit over a year.

Bardock was shaken from his musing at the king’s next words. “You will, won’t you.”

The third-class looked up and once again met the eyes of the king. The man seemed to be considering something and Bardock couldn’t help the apprehension that rolled through his mind. He wanted nothing to do with whatever schemes were brewing in that dangerous mind.  

He kept his own secrets and the king kept his and when those secrets collided, that would be the end.

 

####  **_Vegeta-Sei, Present_ **

Bardock left the saiyan king and made his way back to his lab. He had no intention of going to the Vegeta's chambers that evening, but he also knew that when he failed to show up, the king would simply come to him—and make him pay for it.

The third-class swallowed at the thought, but forcefully put it form his mind. He had other things to worry about—namely his eldest’s journey to Earth. While Bardock had kept his science divisions away from Earth, Raditz had gained enough influence in the military to remand scouts of his own and send them on missions. His priority was Earth, and after the first scout had vanished, Raditz received permission from the higher ups to further investigate the planet. Kakarot had been sent because initial probe data showed a population of incredibly weak people, the perfect proving ground for a third-class child.

But Kakarot had not succeeded—he had never returned and the scouts Raditz had sent had lost communication almost the second their pods had landed and were never heard from again. Now Bardock’s oldest son had lost patience. He wanted to know what had happened to Kakarot but more importantly, he wanted to know what was causing his scouts to disappear.

So he had gone himself this time, his squad accompanying him to investigate. They were no match for the son of the prince or Kakarot, and Bardock worried that Raditz would meet the same fate as the others. Kakarot and Raditz were blood, but his youngest son didn’t know them—didn’t know their family.

And if Raditz disappeared like the rest, the entire attention of the Saiyan Empire would be on that planet—the king’s gaze would move to that isolated blue marble that had protected the half-breed and Kakarot all these years.

Bardock swallowed. When they were discovered, the king would court the lavender-haired prince to their side—he was family, after all. But Kakarot . . . Kakarot would be a threat. One that King Vegeta would eliminate without mercy.

He remembered when Lettis had cornered him soon after his first meeting with the king.

_“What happened to Paragus?” he’d asked._

_The saiyan noble had leaned in a spoken in hushed tones. “Paragus was working on something. He created something in his lab that would rival the royals. He was labeled a traitor and executed.”_

It was hard to believe that Paragus had succumbed to such a fate, but then the man had been arrogant to a fault.

Bardock entered his office, the lights cutting on automatically. He sat down behind his desk with a sigh. The king would be here in a few hours to remind Bardock of why it was best to simply do as he said. The third-class sent off a memo telling his techs to leave early. He didn’t want any of them hearing the sounds that were sure to emanate from the office. He ran his hand over the rare wood of the desk—a gift from the king a few years ago. It was made from the strongest hardwood available on the planet and it would easily hold two saiyans grappling with one another over its surface.

His eye twitched in both irritation and anticipation of what was to come, but his thoughts were interrupted when his comm station beeped. He looked over at the screen, his fingers moving automatically over the keys of the terminal as the screen displayed the landing procedures of Raditz’s pod.

“It’s good that the savior is of my blood line,” the king had whispered that first night. The room was dark and quiet as Bardock had gotten dressed with the intent to leave quickly. He’s halted his movements until the king spoke again. “I’d have hated to have to destroy him.”

Bardock turned around abruptly to face the other man. “You—you would kill the savior?”

The king was entirely nonchalant. “I would kill anyone who posed a threat to my son and his claim to the throne.”

The third-class swallowed heavily as he turned away again. Visions of blond hair and green eyes filled his mind as he remembered what he’d been shown.

“Doesn’t seem like the savior is terribly interested in the throne, anyway,” he said tentatively.

Vegeta snorted. “It doesn’t matter. A super saiyan unattached to the royal house is a threat to the royal house.”

Bardock hadn’t responded back then, he’d instead hastily finished getting dressed, his uniform only half done-up as he’d stumbled out of the royal chambers. The guards hadn’t even looked at him, but he could hear them faintly sniffing him.

He had spent the rest of the night under the hard hot spray of the shower, scrubbing his skin raw until he no longer carried the scent of the king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see [Chapter 1 of Lost Prince - The Story of Bardock and the King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499281/chapters/41217998) for an expanded scene of Bardock and Vegeta's first night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 

####  **_Earth - Age 764, March 10_ **

Trunks stood on the lookout, his gaze towards the sky. The sun was blinding so far above the clouds, but his gaze was unwavering.

“You recognize the ki signature, don’t you?”

He looked back behind him as Kami approached. The old namekian accepted his nod of deference in stride before they stood side by side near the edge.

His senses were wrapped around this familiar ki. “I never met him—he was way before my time, but . . . the resemblance is uncanny.”

“Will you still kill Goku’s brother?” Kami asked, the graveness of the situation not lost on either of them. It was three years after he’d arrived in the original timeline, but nonetheless, Raditz was _here._ Trunks couldn’t help but feel that this was a sign of the end—that the universe would never leave them be.

Trunk knew that Kami wasn’t judging him for his actions, but that he wasn’t entirely accepting of what Trunks had felt he needed to do to protect this world. Scenes of ruined cities and fields of corpses flashed through his mind and he knew Kami had sensed them as well.

“I don’t want to kill any of them,” he said softly before turning his head and meeting Kami’s eyes. “but if I let them leave or somehow contact Vegeta-sei . . .”

The guardian nodded in understanding even as he tried his best to comfort the all but broken young man. “You’re still filled with so much fear, Trunks. Your power has surpassed any creature I can conceive of, but that fear has kept you alone all these years. You can train within my room of spirit and time as much as you like, but you can't hide that kind of power forever.”

Trunks grimaced. “It’s better if it stays hidden. The more powerful you are, the more you push others to surpass you . . . and that push can have catastrophic consequences.”

Kami nodded subtly. “You’ve already destroyed everything you perceived to be a threat, but hidden or not, you still train at that god-like level . . . So you still believe it may have some use.”

The half-breed crossed his arms. “This universe and those beyond it are infinite—no matter how strong I am, there will always be someone stronger—and this level . . . If I don’t maintain it, I’ll lose it.  ”

Kami pursed his lips a bit in thought. “You have done so much for the people of this planet—this timeline . . . when will it be enough, I wonder . . . when will you have your own peace?”

Trunks sighed before smiling. “I’m a saiyan, remember? I love to fight,” he said brightly, before lifting off from platform. “Gotta head to Kame House. I’ll catch you later!”

With these parting words, he took off into the sky. His smile dropped, but then Kami probably hadn’t bought it anyway. Trunks didn’t think he’d ever find what Kami spoke of. For a time, he’d been happy. He’d met Mai and things had been . . . nice.

But he’d let his guard down—he’d spent years training with the Supreme Kai and he’d achieved super saiyan two. He’d thought that was all there was—that he could not possibly get any stronger . . . but then Goku Black had shown up.

He’d stopped wallowing in his guilt years ago, but he’d learned from his mistake. He kept training—kept pushing. He no longer allowed for any distractions—not even the other z-fighters. He knew they cared about him, but there was a sense that they didn’t really know him.

He couldn’t relax, not when Zamasu still lived. Trunks had taken care of as many of the circumstances that had lead to the kai’s eventual fall as he could, but getting to a supreme-kai in training in another universe was beyond him for now. Still, he knew he was stronger than Zamasu had been when he’d destroyed Earth, but this time . . . this time the half-breed wouldn’t slow down. He wouldn’t _stop._

He would be ready—for Zamasu or anyone else who came crawling out of the shadows.

Of course, that problem was still years away—the more immediate issue was the squad of saiyans that would land today.

 _Why did it have to be today?_ he wondered. Perhaps it was just fate. No matter the changes made, some things remained constant. Which meant that this was the day that his friends found out about Goku’s heritage.

As Kame House came into view, Trunks decided that he would enjoy these last few care-free minutes with his friends. Their world was about to change. How much would he be forced to admit? How much would he change the timeline even further by spilling the secrets of the future? Goku knew of a few of them, but even he wasn't privy to everything.

Trunks heard his name being called even before he landed and had only seconds to react before Bulma threw herself on him in a massive hug. “How is my favorite brother from another mother?”

Trunks blushed at the comment but smiled anyway. “Bulma! How are you?”

“I’m doing great, but you’d know that if you came and worked for me at Capsule Corp.”

Krillin stepped up behind the pair. “Ah Bulma, you know Trunks prefers living the quiet life.”

Trunks was grateful for the sentiment. It would be too weird living with his mother who was a few years younger than him.

“But Trunks is so smart, he could change the world with his inventions.”

“I don’t need to change the world, only protect it.”

Bulma threw her hands up in the air and walked away in exasperation. In the meantime Roshi and Krillin approached him in greeting. “How are you Trunks?”

“I’m great. I’ve been invited to participate in the Asia Grand Championship tournament so I’ll be there next month competing if you want to come and enter as well or even watch.”

“What’s the second place prize?” Krillin asked dubiously.

Trunks thought back to the flyer he'd received. “150,000 zeni.”

The number perked Krillin right up.“And Goku’s not entering?” he asked with a raised brow.

The half-breed smiled. “Nah, he fought in another tournament earlier this year so he’s focusing on his farming business right now.”

While Krillin was contemplating the idea, Roshi came up behind the shorter human and hit him on the back of his head with his walking stick. “Krillin, you should enter and make some damn money!”

Krillin sighed in exasperation but nodded nonetheless.

Trunks was about to say something when they all felt Goku’s arrival.

“Hey!” he called as he landed, carrying along his child. The boy was nearly seven years old and he bore almost no resemblance to even the Gohan that he’d seen the first time he’d traveled in time to warn Goku of the Androids. This boy had no discernible power and had never displayed even an accidental bout of energy.

He might as well have been human.

Trunks still was unsure how to feel about depriving the universe of someone so powerful, but there was little he could do about it at this point.

Bulma turned back around. “Hey, Goku! Oh, good you brought Gohan!”

Krillin walked up to them. “Hey Gohan! It’s been a while, but I hope you remember your uncle Krillin!”

“Of course, I do, Mr. Krillin,” the boy said respectfully.

Krillin pursed his lips. “I guess your mom still isn’t letting you train.”

The boy shook his head while Goku shrugged. “Chichi can be pretty overprotective when it comes to Gohan. She makes him study all the time, and she says martial arts are a waste of energy.”

Trunks was past taking offense with Chichi but Krillin apparently wasn’t. “Oh yeah? Then what does that make us then?”

Before Goku could respond, the other earthlings finally felt them. The other saiyans . . . _Raditz._

Trunks turned to Goku, setting Gohan back on the ground. “We need to leave,” he said, his voice holding a graveness that took the others aback.

Goku shook his head, “They’ll be headed this way,” he said before gesturing back to their friends. “We can’t leave them here defenseless.”

Trunks stepped close, his voice lowering so that the others couldn’t hear. “They aren’t interested in humans. They’re only interested in you. We’ll lead them away, but keep your ki low. We’ll circle back to their ship and destroy it before taking them out.”

Bulma started screeching. “What are you guys talking about?”

Trunks looked back towards the human girl. He hated that flash of fear in her eyes, but he couldn't worry about that now. “We’ll explain later,” he said.

Something on his face must have told her that Trunks was serious and now was not the time to argue. She nodded shallowly watching as he and Goku took off. Sure enough, he could feel the ki signatures of five saiyans following them.

“They landed a few miles south of West City,” Goku said from beside him.

Trunks nodded in agreement. “You know the drill. Find the ship and destroy it. Fast.”

The saiyan squad would still be able to track their power levels, but their speed was unmatched and so they had a few minutes to spare as they landed beside the ship. Trunks watched as Goku raised a hand and blew the ship into oblivion. Hardly anything remained after the blast and Trunks suddenly sensed a . . . flinch in the ki of the squad. Their speed reduced by a fraction as they approached.

Even so, Trunks would take no chances. “Lower you ki to nothing. We need the element of surprise to take out so many scouters.”

“You got it.”

They backed away from the smoldering remains of the ship and quickly hid in the woods until the five saiyan warriors landed and began screaming at one another in a foreign language, presumably regarding the wreckage in front of them.

There were four males and one female, all in varying styles of armor. Goku looked over at Trunks and the two nodded before aiming and firing. The saiyans all crouched down into fighting stances as one by one, their scouters exploded and fell to the ground.

Now came the hard part.

Goku didn’t like to kill. He believed in forgiveness and redemption but after the first scout threatened to bring back the entire saiyan army to decimate their planet, Goku had been less hesitant. Even so, he still always gave them the choice to live on Earth in peace. It wasn't a sentiment that Trunks agreed with and he wasn't even sure he would adhere to it if any of them ever agreed, but so far he hadn't had to test the issue.

The pair stepped out from the woods and the saiyan with the long hair stepped forward. “Kakarot,” he said, his eyes sweeping over Goku before they landed on Trunks. The half-saiyan saw the other man’s eyes widen fractionally before narrowing at the sight of him—a reaction Trunks had never seen with any of the other scouts that landed. This . . . this could be bad. While he’d never personally seen Raditz before, his mother had shown him video footage of the saiyan warrior and told him stories about the first time they truly discovered Goku wasn’t of their world. This was Goku’s brother

“I don’t go by that name,” Goku said flatly.

The saiyan’s eyes slid away from Trunks and back to his brother. Raditz hesitated, clearly confusing the others with him. Still, the arrogance of the saiyan race would never allow them to stand there in silence when there was a fight to be had.

One of the other males spoke up while looking over at Trunks, taking in his decidedly un-saiyan like coloring. “Have you gone native, Kakarot? This one terribly ugly. Could you not have found something less . . .  _garish_ to mingle with?”

Goku blinked dumbly at the question and implication. “Trunks is my friend and mentor.”

The female stepped forward. She had shoulder-length taupe hair that curled more than spiked and dark eyes. “You’re a disgrace to your heritage, Kakarot. Your power level is barely above the inhabitants of this planet—”

The leader interrupted her. “Kelpe. Shut up.”

“I’ll give you one chance to surrender and you can live here in peace,” Goku said, ignoring the bickering. “If not, you’ll be destroyed.”

Trunks watched group. Raditz had yet to declare himself as Goku’s brother, however there was no one else that Goku could possibly be. He wasn’t sure why Raditz was still holding onto that bit of information, but perhaps he didn’t think it was necessary.

Their scouters filled them with a sense of superiority and the usual saiyan bravado was in effect. None of them seemed to realize that they were merely the next interlopers in a long line of intruders that had come to this planet with the intent to harm it. Perhaps at one point, he’d have felt bad for what was about to happen here, but he’d long since had such feelings of guilt burned from him.

Trunks stepped back and hopped up onto a large rock that jutted up from the ground. He sat down and nodded to Goku. The squad watched the exchange but still felt unthreatened even when Goku turned back to them and began to walk slowly in their direction.

“Destroy us?” one of them asked incredulously. “Boy, they must grow’em up stupid around here if you weaklings think you can take on a squad of elites.” The rest laughed and the man gestured around him. “No one on this planet has a power level over a hundred and fifty, but come on, I’ll give you free punch if it’ll make you feel any better.”

Goku frowned and didn’t even bother dropping down into a fighting crouch. He phased from his stance and was suddenly before the large saiyan. He didn’t have much of a chance to even say anything before Goku had punched the taller man in the face sending him soaring into the sky.

Raditz could not stop himself. “What?! That’s not possible.”

Goku turned back to him. “This is your last warning. Surrender or I will have to kill you.”

Kelpe spoke up. “You don’t have that kind of power. You’re a runt third-class. The scouter said so!” And with that she and the other two saiyans leapt at him. He took all of them, meeting their punches with perfect defensive moves and striking back harder, sending the enemy warriors thudding into the ground one by one. All the while, Raditz watched the fight, his eyes studying Goku before looking up and meeting Trunks’ own gaze.

Trunks could see the wheels turning in the saiyan’s mind as he worked to figure out how a fighter with such a low power level could make these warriors look like untried children. The first male finally made it back to the fight and with a yell, he too entered the fray.

It went on for a few minutes and Trunks could tell that Goku was playing with them—trying to get as much entertainment and fighting variety as he could, but . . . it was just too pathetic to watch after a while.

“End it, Goku,” he said evenly. “We can’t allow any of them to contact or return to Vegeta-sei.”

Raditz’s eyes widened as Goku began picking the four warriors off one by one, killing them quickly and with as little physical pain as he could manage. Kelpe tried to escape, flying away as quickly as she could so she didn’t see the small but powerful beam of energy come at her from behind. Trunks killed her instantly with a shot in the back of the head and she fell lifeless back to the ground.

At which point both Goku and Trunks turned back to Raditz. The saiyan had stayed out of the fight entirely.

Trunks raised his hand and was about to fire off a blast when Raditz held his hands up.

“I surrender,” he said with a smile.

The half-breed hesitated, her gaze flat and cold as they watched the smirking saiyan. No . . . there would be no survivors . . . _no threats._ His lips took on a cruel twist as he fired anyway. He watched as the beam barreled towards the long-haired saiyan. He felt no guilt at going back on Goku's word, after all, Trunks hadn't agreed to it. Just as the energy was about to hit Raditz, Goku appeared in front of the larger saiyan and backhanded the beam away. It flew off into the distance before exploding some miles away.

“He surrendered!” Gaku said loudly.

Trunks didn’t lower his hand. “He’s a liability.”

“I made the offer, and he didn’t even fight us.”

The lavender haired warrior sneered. "The offer should have never been made in the first place. He is a threat."

"He's not! He surrendered," Goku said desperately. 

Trunks hated that. He heated that Goku felt the need to beg for another's life. Trunks could easily disable his friend and destroy the saiyan, anyway, but would he regain the other man's trust as easily? His knuckles popped as his fist tightened, but he dropped his hand with a grunt. Trunks looked away from Goku and finally met the gaze of the saiyan, Raditz. The long-haired warrior met his eyes and Trunks felt another flare of irritation at the smugness he saw reflected there. Something about this seemed entirely too convenient.

“What are you going to do with a saiyan, Goku?” he asked as he crossed his arms.

Goku blinked in confusion, his hand coming up to scratch his head in uncertainty. “We’ll figure that out later. We should get back to the others, though.”

Trunks narrowed his eyes before turning away. He lifted his hand and vaporized what was left of the bodies so that only ash remained. Raditz said nothing—he didn’t even seem upset at the deaths of his people.

Goku lifted up into the air. “I’m warning you, don’t try anything funny,” he said to the saiyan elite.

Raditz smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Kakarot,” he said, but his eyes were on Trunks—as they’d been almost entirely since arriving.

Trunks brought up the rear as the trio took off towards Kame House. He kept an eye on Raditz, looking for any threatening movements, but nothing occurred. Trunks didn’t like this at all. The stories that he had been told had said that Raditz was an arrogant saiyan who did exactly what he wanted, when he wanted and was killed because he couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. This Raditz was smarter, quieter, and far more calculating. More worryingly, despite Goku clearly being the saiyan that Raditz was seeking, he’d all but ignored Goku and instead had focused his attention on Trunks.

It wasn't long before the tiny island came into view and they came in for a landing.

“What the heck happened, Goku?!” Krillin was the first to ask.

Goku smiled goofily, scratching his head. “We have a visitor—Uh . . . I never got your name.”

The saiyan warrior raised a brow. “I am Raditz, son of Bardock . . . Your brother.”

Bulma stepped back. “B . . . brother?”

Raditz's chin lifted with pride. “Kakarot is a saiyan warrior from the planet Vegeta-sei, he and I share the same sire, though we have different dams.” Raditz paused, his eyes sliding back to Trunks. “But then you already knew that, didn’t you? Half-breed.”

Trunks narrowed his eyes. Something was _definitely_ not adding up. Raditz shouldn’t know something as specific as that. Gohan could have passed as a saiyan if not for the lackluster power level, but Trunks looked nothing like a saiyan. He glared at Raditz, but the saiyan merely crossed his arms and smirked.

Bulma looked over. “What’s he talking about, Trunks?”

The saiyan’s head tilted as his eyes said, _tell them, or I will reveal more than you wish me to._

The skin beneath his eye twitched. He should have blasted away the saiyan when he had the chance.

He looked away from Raditz and back towards Bulma, softening his features. “Goku and I have been repelling the saiyans who come here the last few years in order to keep the planet safe. We didn’t want to bother you all with that.”

She shook her head. “But why did he call you a half-breed?”

The lavender-haired warrior bit his lip before finally speaking. “Because I am. My father was a saiyan and my mother was human.”

Raditz moved towards them, causing the others to freeze as they looked for any threatening movements from the hulking saiyan.

He ignored them, his focus entirely on Trunks. “Who is your father, boy?”

Trunks raised a brow. “I don’t know. He left my mother before I was born.”

The saiyan eyed him but thankfully didn’t question him further. “I came here to retrieve my brother or to avenge his death.”

Krillin stepped forward. “Well, neither of those things is gonna happen. Goku has a life and a family here and he’s not interested in leaving, are you Goku?”

“Not really,” Goku said with a shrug.

Raditz finally turned to face his brother. “Kakarot, you are a great warrior. You would be revered back home. Fighting is in your blood and I could see before that you love it just as much as any other saiyan. If you return with me, you could fight the most powerful warriors from all over the galaxy every day for the rest of your life.”

Trunks could see that for a few seconds, Goku was tempted. But that idea was snuffed out the second Gohan grabbed his pant leg. Raditz’s eyes were also drawn down to the child, his eyes taking in the boy's looks.

“You bred with this species?” he asked, eyes sliding over to Trunks for a few seconds before looking back. “Is he strong, like the other half-breed?”

“His name is Trunks!” Bulma interrupted loudly. “Not half-breed.”

Raditz sniffed. “Hardly a saiyan name.”

Trunks thought back to the disinterest that Vegeta had shown in his family during the fight with the androids and Cell. The man’s attitude had begun changing after the year they spent together in the time chamber, culminating in his total devotion to his family when they’d fought Zamasu, but he’d never forget the bitterness of that first meeting.

“If my father wanted to name me,” he said flatly. “Then he should have been around when I was born.”

The saiyan’s lips pulled into a knowing smile. “Come with me to Vegeta-sei. I’m sure you have family there that you could meet.”

Trunks looked away. He would never be welcome on Vegeta-sei as he was. There were deep prejudices and a distrust towards other species. Half-breeds were looked down upon there, but that was knowledge that he shouldn’t possess.

“Not interested,” he said carelessly.

Raditz looked back towards Gohan who was still looking towards his uncle fearfully. Again, there were wheels turning in that head. Trunks tried not to let his paranoia disturb him, but this was not how things were supposed to go. Raditz should not have surrendered. He should not be standing here bearing all of Trunks’ secrets to their friends . . . He shouldn’t seem like he was in control of the situation—as if everything was going according to some plan.

Everything about this was sounding alarms in Trunks’ mind.

Krillin looked back and forth between Goku and Raditz. “Uh, Goku. I hate to be the one to ask but what are you planning to do with him? Chichi will never let that guy stay with you, brother or not.”

The younger saiyan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“He’ll stay with me,” Trunks said without hesitation. There was something suspicious about Raditz and there was no way he was leaving the saiyan elite with Goku or anyone else. They all looked towards him in question, so he explained, leaving out his more personal misgivings about the situation.

“I live out in the middle of nowhere so he’ll have plenty of space and I don’t even have a television so no chance of him contacting his people.”

“Are we keeping him prisoner?” Bulma asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Trunks shrugged. “It’s either that or we have to kill him.”

Bulma blinked and stepped back away from this side of Trunks that she had never seen. “You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice raising an octave in disbelief.

The lavender-haired warrior shook his head. “This isn’t a game, Bulma. The Saiyan Empire isn’t made up an army of stuffed animals. They are all cold-blooded killers who destroy entire civilizations and sell planets in order to fund their imperial expansion across the galaxy. If I or Goku have to eliminate a few of them to keep this planet safe; so be it.”

Raditz sucked his teeth. “Your information is out of date. We don’t purge planets anymore—haven’t for decades.”

“But you did? You killed entire planets worth of people?” Bulma asked, completely aghast.

The saiyan was entirely nonplussed. “We were slaves to the Arcosian Empire, but once we were free of them, allies became far more valuable than empty planets.”

It wasn’t a ‘no’. Silence settled over the group as their understanding of the universe shifted irrevocably.

“Well this isn’t quite the reunion I had in mind,” Roshi said, breaking the tension.

Trunks quickly decided to just roll with it. “Why don’t we make plans to get together in a couple of weeks again. And we’ll barbeque out. I’ll bring a couple of boars for us to roast.”

“Hey that sounds great!” Goku said with a nod.

Krillin rolled his eyes. “You would think so, Goku.”

Trunks stepped back, eager to be well away from any other potential bombshells waiting to go off. “I’ll take the saiyan now. Talk to you guys later! Come on, Raditz.”

And with that, Trunks and Raditz flew up into the air. The half-breed narrowed his eyes as the pair flew nearly side by side. Raditz hadn’t argued with his placement—he hadn’t tried to go with his brother and instead seemed content to put on this show of docility. Trunks wondered how long it would last.

They flew for about ten minutes before they landed outside Trunks’ small capsule house. He’d never really had any long term visitors or house guests before. The sofa doubled as a bed, but that wasn’t exactly the ideal solution. The house simply wasn’t built to house two ‘roommates’. He’d need to see about purchasing another larger one soon, perhaps tomorrow.

Capsule houses were expensive—even the base models, but he had plenty of money from various ventures and tournaments so it wouldn’t be a problem to either get a larger home for them to share or perhaps a similar one and just have two homes. He had plenty of space—over ten thousand acres situated between a canyon-laced plateau and a thick forest teaming with large predatory animals. He’d gotten it fairly cheaply with his first tournament win in this timeline.

“You are the savior of Vegeta-sei.”

Trunks flinched at the words. He supposed he should be glad that Raditz hadn’t said anything in front of the others. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said flatly.

Raditz hummed in disbelief. “Kakarot may have the IQ of an over-ripe vegetable but I am not an idiot. Vegeta-sei was saved from Frieza twenty five years ago by a purple haired fighter that is half saiyan and half something else.”

Trunks knew for a fact that Frieza had destroyed any evidence of their battle from his shipboard scanners and the scouters. There were rumors and gossip about what had happened but his hair color and the fact that he was a half-breed was very specific information that should not have been obvious from that fight.

His silence seemed to spur Raditz on. “A few strands of your hair was found on the corpse of one of Frieza’s men. That combined with your knowledge of saiyans when the people here have not achieved deep space exploration capabilities tells me everything I need to know.”

Trunks turned back around, his expression carefully blank. “I’m not whoever this person is. My mother told me about the saiyans before she died. My father was a deserter of the saiyan army. Earth was basically a pit stop in his escape out to space. He stopped here for a couple of months and stayed with my mother. He told her about Vegeta-sei and what the saiyans did. Besides, I’m only thirty-one years old. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t flying around the universe when I was six.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably say that I'm a huge TFS fan and I've re-watched those abridged episodes so many times that some of that might be canon. ;P


	5. Chapter 5

The explanation was so reasonable and well rehearsed that Raditz almost believed it, but the half-breed bore far too many similarities to the savior for his existence to be a mere coincidence. He was also clearly hiding secrets—even from his comrades. They hadn’t had any idea that Trunks was a saiyan. He’d thought about picking at the younger man until he unraveled, but if he really was the savior, then he was capable of outrageous power—and he’d already proven his very saiyan willingness to kill without mercy.

There was the very real possibility that Trunks had offered to take him so that he could murder Raditz without Kakarot interfering or protesting.

The saiyan let none of his growing apprehension show on his face. “I don’t know why you’re lying about your power but I won’t question you any further. It doesn’t matter at any rate. More saiyans will follow me here after the destruction of the ship and our scouters. Kakarot has just single-handedly taken out an elite level squad on par with the Ginyu force. You cannot expect that sort of challenge to empire to be left unanswered.”

Trunks’ expression was indifferent. “Whoever they send will meet the same fate as your squad and everyone else who came before them. We will protect our home or die trying.”

Raditz snorted. “They won’t kill you or Kakarot. As saiyan warriors and especially as powerful as you are, you will both be taken back to Vegeta-sei for re-education and to serve the royal family.”

The half-breed shot him a look of disgust. “I’m no one’s servant and neither is Goku.”

“We are all servants of the empire,” he said, thumb absently gesturing to the emblem printed on his armor over his left pectoral. “Our entire reason for existence is the defense and expansion of our race.”

Trunks waved him off. “Well, I’m not entirely saiyan so you can take your ‘reason for existence’ and shove it up your ass.” And with that, the half-breed turned away from Raditz and went inside. 

The saiyan half expected the door to slam shut behind him, but it was instead left open in obvious invitation for the other saiyan to follow.  Raditz hesitated only a few seconds before entering the small home. He looked around at the rather modest living situation in confusion. There was minimal furniture and amenities and the little house was so small that the bed was only separated from the living area by a squat half-wall. The kitchen was barely more than a few counters and a cooling box. If what the king suspected to be true, the half-breed could be living like a god on this planet, but instead seemed to live off the land in the middle of nowhere.

“This capsule house is too small for two of us but I’ll see about getting a larger one tomorrow.” Trunks looked him over critically. “We’ll also need to get you some other clothing if you’re going to be here for a while.”

Well, at least it didn't appear that the half-breed was inclined to murder him in his sleep . . . or perhaps he was merely lulling the saiyan into a false sense of security. Raditz raised a brow as he looked down at his armor. He actually hated wearing his armor—most saiyans did after they’d been liberated from the arcosians. He much preferred his planet-side officer's uniform. Still, it wouldn’t do to get too comfortable.

“My armor is sufficient for me,” he said. “I have no need for weak earthling garments.”

Trunks wasn’t impressed. “Hmmm. Well, if you want to wear more than just that one set of armor for the rest of your time here, you should let Bulma take a look at it. She’ll more than likely be able to create new ones for you.”

“I had one other set in my ship before you blew it to kingdom come,” Raditz said, just to be irritating. 

Trunks shrugged, seeming to care more about the pair of them removing their shoes before entering the main living area than he did about blowing up Raditz’s ship.

“Yeah. Well, we just want to be left alone out here,” he said as he kicked off a boot. “If you saiyans would get that through your thick skulls, you wouldn’t be stuck here for the rest of your life.”

“As I said, others will come—” he began but the words died when Trunk’s head turned sharply.

“And when they do, they will all meet the same end that your squad did,” he said. “Goku let you live, but I won't let that happen again.”

Raditz removed his shoes as well, feeling slightly unbalanced without them, but he let nothing show on his face. “If you’ve never left this planet, how would you know you can take on so many saiyans?”

The lavender-haired warrior tilted his head, the long locks falling over his shoulder. “I never said that I had never been off world.”

“Ha! So you are—”

“No,” Trunks said, cutting him off. “Humans are much further along technologically than you seem to think we are. Bulma’s ships are some of the fastest in the galaxy.”

“This is the second time you’ve mentioned this name,” he said curiously.

The half-breed’s brow furrowed as he hesitated before answering. “She is my friend. You met on the beach before. She is one of the smartest people on the planet and is the V.P—the second in command—over at Capsule Corp. They make the most advanced vehicles and ships, further along than even your saiyan pods or anything that Frieza is making.”

The arcosian empire was clear across the galaxy from Earth. “How do you know about Frieza?”

Trunks sat down heavily on the sofa. “I told you, I’ve been off world. Goku and I have gone out into space dozens of time over the last five years in order to face the strongest warriors we can find. We fight and eliminate Frieza's purging squads.”

Raditz thought back over the past few years. “I’ve not heard of any squads encountering rogue saiyan fighters.”

“Had you heard of what the scouts before you encountered here before you arrived?” Trunks asked simply.

Raditz would never say his king had suspected that their savior—Trunks—would be on this planet. “I see your point.”

The half-breed shrugged. “Anyway, none of that matters. Goku and I have you now to fight against as well as ourselves. We’ll probably refrain from going off world as much until we know when your people will come. You came faster than the last group.”

Raditz thought of the newest ship in the fleet, the Protector. They no longer took the slow ships that Frieza deigned to give them. King Vegeta’s new science division had succeeded in producing the fastest ship in the quadrant if not the galaxy. Its engines had phase four tech. He didn’t know if the king would send out that ship or another, but considering the royal’s interest, he thought it was a distinct possibility.

 

####  **_Vegeta-sei, six months ago_ **

The low hum of the crowded hanger had a familiar calming effect on Raditz as he did his final checks on the ship and mission assignments. He was so focused on that, that he almost didn’t notice the saiyan that had stopped behind him. He looked up and recognized Cado, the king’s secretary. He’d never liked Cado, the sniveling little boot-licker who thought himself above Raditz’s father. Bardock had more than enough power to wipe Cado from the face of the planet but the older saiyan was almost zen about his steadily rising power level.

“Yes?” he asked after a moment.

Cado looked entirely indifferent. “The king requests your presence.” Though his tone said he couldn’t fathom why.

Raditz grimaced. They were due to leave in an hour. He didn’t have time for this. “Here or back at the palace?”

“Conference room two.”

The saiyan elite gave a short nod and left the secretary without another word. He made his way through the hanger, shrugging his shoulders when his squad-mates looked over at him in question. Raditz didn’t know them terribly well—they were old school saiyans looking for an interesting mission after the moratorium had been put on purges more than two decades ago. He signaled that he’d be back in a few minutes but otherwise did not address them.

Raditz entered the conference room and the door slid shut behind him, causing the noise of the crowd outside to abruptly cease. It was replaced by the low hum of the jammers that lined the wall. This room was used for conversations of utmost secrecy and the jammers prevented any sort of transmission from leaving the room. The king was already seated and he gestured for Raditz to also be seated after the customary short bow and fist clenched over his heart.

“I have a special mission for you,” the man said seriously.

His brow was furrowed in confusion. “Sire?” he asked. Raditz, while an experienced and decorated officer in the saiyan military, had never had a conversation with the king, much less been given a personal mission.

The king lowered his voice. “I have reason to believe that the savior might be on Earth.”

Raditz’s eyes widened. The existence of the savior had never been confirmed by the royal house, but most saiyans firmly believed that _someone_ had come and saved them from complete annihilation. That man . . . the savior.

But Earth was so far away. Months of travel were still required even in their fastest ship. How had he simply shown up and then disappeared, let alone gotten all the way to Earth?

“My king . . . how is that possible?” he asked, confusion coloring his voice.

King Vegeta hesitated, but seemed to overcome whatever reservations that had kept him silent. “What I am about to say is privileged information for only our top generals and council members. I am only telling you this because I know you are intelligent enough to carry out this assignment. You will not repeat any of this to your squadmates, your father, _anyone_.”

Raditz didn’t allow his doubt to show on his face. He wasn’t an idiot or oblivious to the goings-on of the palace for the last twenty plus years. His father was the king’s lover—his only one if you believed the rumors. Had Bardock still been some nobody inventor, he’d understand the secrecy, but his father managed several departments and was a pillar of the government.

And this was a secret from him?

He was confused, but he nodded anyway. “Of course, sire.”

King Vegeta nodded shortly before leaning back in his chair. “After Frieza fled, we recovered the remains of two of his entourage. They were ripped apart and the fall further destroyed the corpses, however we recovered a few strands of hair from one of them and found it had saiyan DNA mixed with DNA from another species. The hair was pale purple in color so the warrior likely inherited that trait from the other species.”

Raditz blinked. “A half-breed?” he asked, chin shifting to the side in thought. “Very few races are even capable of producing children with saiyans—and for this one to be so powerful . . . but why would you think he is on Earth?”

King Vegeta picked up a pad. “We sent out a long-range probe with the second scout. It cannot send anything but the most rudimentary data. Images only. But it sent back photos like this one.”

The king slid the pad over, revealing a grainy picture of a large crowd of aliens in all manner of colors and sizes. They could have been mistaken for saiyans were it not for the bright hair colors and lack of tails. Their expressions of joy and laughter was also quite alien to the long-haired warrior.

The older saiyan continued thoughtfully. “He may not be there but if he is, it would explain the loss of contact with our men. Their people could also be quite powerful and are somehow masking that from our sensors. This is merely a hunch that this planet could be the savior’s home-world.” He paused and Raditz’s eyes moved back to meet his. “And that is at the core of your assignment. If the warrior is on Earth and these earthlings are the other race that created him, either naturally or in a lab, you must do all in your power to survive—surrender if you must to him. I want you to gather intelligence on him and the people of that planet. Even if he is not there, it may still be the right planet so do not destroy it. Either way, take DNA samples using this.”

The king handed over a small case that contained several small sealed containers. “Hair, saliva, blood—anything that will help us to better understand the genetics of this species. And be vigilant for strong men and women that can potentially contribute to our gene-pool.”

Raditz looked up abruptly. He said nothing but it was fairly obvious that the king had every intention of creating more fighters if the savior turned out to be half human. But that made little sense with what he knew about the royals. They jealously guarded their power and genetics. It was a mystery for another day.

He stood and bowed shallowly. “I understand, sire. It will be as you wish.”

 

####  **_Vegeta-sei, Present_ **

The king found Bardock sitting completely still in his lab chair staring at his terminal. He didn’t need to see the screen to know that the words, ‘lost contact’ were flashing across the screen. Another son had been claimed by that planet and now his lover was . . . was bereft. For a fraction of a second, doubts flashed through Vegeta's mind about all the decisions he’d made leading up to this moment. Had he really done the right thing? Was Bardock’s misery worth all his plans?

It was only temporary, he assured himself. Raditz had to have survived. Perhaps he wasn’t as intelligent as his father, but Raditz wasn’t a pushover, either. He’d not risen through the ranks of the military because anyone had done the former third-class any favors. In fact, many in the more established echelons had tried to suppress him, but Raditz was good at making friends and allies. He shared that same thread of . . . emotion, with his father, but while Bardock feared his desire for attachment, Raditz reveled in it and used it to his advantage to draw others to him.

The king gave a wave of his hand and his guard stayed outside as the door shut behind him. Bardock didn’t even look up or give his bow. He did nothing at all.

Vegeta moved around the desk and took Bardock’s hand. He pulled off one of his gloves along with Bardock’s and as he’d hoped, the skin contact roused the third-class from his stupor.

“What are you doing here?” his lover asked warily.

The king didn’t take offense. “Making sure you’re alright. We don’t know that he’s actually dead,” he said quietly, his hand moving up Bardock’s arm.

The other saiyan shook his head. “That planet is a deadzone. No one has ever returned from there or had any contact with us since.”

A true enough statement, but things were changing. He could feel it. “We don’t know that any of our people have died, the planet could have a heavy magnetic field that disrupts electronics.”

His lover scoffed, pulling his hand away. “Early probe data from before Kakarot was sent showed a moderately advanced civilization using fossil-fuel based electricity for power. There was no indication of any sort of electromagnetic disturbance.”

Vegeta said nothing at first, but his hand cupped Bardock’s cheek, turning his face until their gazes met. “I’ll find out what happened to your sons, Bardock,” he promised.

The younger man all but shoved him away, getting up and turning his back on the king. “Don’t send any more of our people there to die. Please, my king.”

Bardock’s arms hung limply by his side and his posture was slumped—a far cry from the proud and statuesque figure he usually cut in the form-fitting uniform. Even so, with all the sadness and bitterness that had enveloped the third-class, Vegeta wanted him.

He reached out, but Bardock sighed. “Go now,” he said. “You can’t be in here too long or tongues will wag.”

The king found that he didn't care. The only thing that mattered was his lover . . . And while Bardock played the role of the unfeeling and uncaring saiyan warrior, Vegeta knew better. 

He walked up behind the other man and wrapped one of his arms around Bardock’s shoulders, pulling him back until they were plastered together. “Always so pragmatic,” the king said softly. “Come to my chambers later. I would rather you did not sleep alone this night.”

It was a testament to how out of it Bardock was that he didn’t even argue with the king as he usually would. He nodded and Vegeta released him after pressing a parting kiss to his throat. He threw one last glance towards the other saiyan before exiting the room. His guards followed him as he made his way down the hall and then an additional two floors down. He entered his key code into a familiar door and it slid open.

“Wait out here.”

The guards nodded and stood silently as the door shut and the king walked over to the two saiyans sitting in front of the monitors.

“What do you have for me?” he asked, coming up behind the techs. These were some of the few people in the entire complex that were not required to stand and bow on sight. Their work was too delicate to be interrupted, even for the king.

“Something interesting,” one of them said, pulling up a patchy image on the large viewscreen at the front of the room. “Normally, we lose communications seconds after the scouts landed but this time it was a good fifteen minutes before the ship comms went down and then the scouters lost communications as well.”

The scouter video showed the squad flying over cities and forests. They depicted a thriving civilization with billions of humans spread over the planet. His eyes narrowed as he read over the power level readouts that listed down the side of the screen. The highest power level recorded was only in the hundreds. The look of the species coincided with the savior, but the lower power level was cause for concern.

The footage played through, and he heard the squad’s chatter as the realized that two power levels were headed for their ship. He saw the message play when they lost connection with their vessel.

“What the hell is going on?” a female voice asked.

The king recognized Raditz’s voice. “They took out our ship—just like the others.”

“But I’m not picking up anything strong enough to generate that much power.”

“Maybe we got a bad batch of scouters,” another muttered.

“Or maybe we’re walking into an ambush,” Raditz said, looking at the others. “Keep your head on and don’t underestimate these humans.”

There was a collective grumbling from the squad about weakling humans as they flew towards the smoking crater that used to be their ship. They landed and then suddenly the scouters began going offline, presumably as they were destroyed one by one.

But one wasn’t destroyed entirely.

“They missed one,” he said quietly.

The tech nodded. “It remained online for an additional three minutes before losing power. We don’t have any sound, ambient data, or power level readouts after the initial damage to the scouter but we do have video.”

The video was at an awkward angle, the scouter was obviously lying on its side on the ground. After a few second, a younger clone of Bardock came into view. Truthfully, the king was taken aback by the resemblance. He had to be Bardock’s youngest son, Kakarot. 

So he wasn’t dead as everyone thought.

Kakarot spoke, presumably to the squad but the king couldn’t tell what he was saying. Suddenly the young saiyan phased from view and the screen only showed the dirt, trees, and blue sky of the planet. After about a minute, the video jarred as something hit it causing it to turn slightly. The king only blinked as the face of a very dead saiyan landed in front of the lens taking up the majority of the screen and Vegeta’s eyes widened.

Kakarot was killing his fellow saiyans, perhaps even his own brother. The video ended and went dark. The saiyans that Raditz had taken with him were all elites, as was Raditz himself. Kakarot had been designated as a third-class at birth, but then so had Raditz and Bardock. But to take out an entire squad . . .

The king hadn’t said anything so the tech spoke up. “There is something else, my king.”

He looked down at the tech. “What is it?”

The young man rewound the video and paused it during the half second that the video was being moved by the saiyan hitting it. He zoomed in on something that the king had missed entirely. There was another person there. A purple haired young man was sitting on a rock watching the fight with an indifferent look on his face.

The king's face became devoid of expression. Purple hair . . . it couldn’t be . . . “Can you zoom in further on his face?”

The tech zoomed in further and though Vegeta could not be sure, the young man’s face shared more than a few similarities with the prince. While Saiyans didn’t age quickly, this one still didn’t look old enough to be their savior. But then the Prince Vegeta was not old enough to have fathered a warrior old enough or powerful enough to fight and defeat Frieza. Nothing was adding up.

“I need more information,” he said more to himself than anything else.

“I’m sorry, sir. This planet . . . ” The tech paused as he looked at his notes. “Earth, is quite far outside our territory. Its closest neighbor is the Seijin Province.”

The king considered that. The Seijin Province had been wary of pushing too close to the Saiyan Empire. Lord Turles was only now getting his fledgling territory entirely under his control. He’d been sending tributaries for the last few years but Vegeta had all but ignored the cowardly former third-class. Bardock’s brother or not, the king didn’t trust a warrior that had come by his power via a jump start like the God Essence Tree.

But perhaps it was time to start entertaining allowing such inroads. If Earth was indeed the home planet of the savior, it would need to be protected. For now no one was looking towards the planet because of its location and reputation as a dead-zone planet, but he could not count on that forever.

And the savior . . . Various scenarios ran through his mind, some remaining and others being discarded, before he settled on the one that had been in the back of his mind for decades. If that was truly him then . . . Could it really be true? he wondered. Was such a thing possible? Would a young man really go to such great lengths for his father?

He spoke flatly. “The Protector just completed construction and launched recently,” he said. “Using that ship, how long would it take to reach Earth?”

The tech ran his fingers over the keys of his terminal before speaking. “The Protector uses phase four tech which cuts travel time by a bit over two thirds versus a pod. It would be just over three months.”

Vegeta nodded before turning away and exiting the room without another word. His guard followed him as he ascended back into the main chambers of the complex before he took off towards the palace. His secretary was by his side the instant he entered the throne room.

“Call my son into my study. Now.”

“As you wish,” Cado said as he pressed a few buttons on his scouter and spoke quietly into it. He followed closely behind the king as they entered the study before moving off to the side desk to take notes on the conversations that would occur. The prince walked in without knocking ten minutes later, strutting about as the boy was wont to do.

“You summoned me, father?” he asked, throwing himself down onto one of the sofas.

The king came around to face his son. “Yes. I have a mission for you—off world.” Prince Vegeta crossed his arms but didn’t argue so the older saiyan continued. “You are familiar with Raditz, son of Bardock, yes?”

The prince nodded. “Yes, he is one of my sparring partners on occasion.”

“He and his squad have gone missing as have three other scouts that have ventured to a planet outside our territory.”

Prince Vegeta raised a brow. “You mean that dead-zone planet where they sent Raditz’s younger brother?”

He nodded. “Yes. Now, what I am about to say goes no further than this room.” The king’s eyes slid to the assistant and the man immediately stopped writing and turned his scouter off.

“Of course father.”

King Vegeta finally sat down across from his son. “A few minutes of video was recovered before their scouters were destroyed and they recorded what I believe to be Kakarot himself killing Raditz’s squad.”

The prince’s brow furrowed. “That’s not possible. Raditz and everyone on his team are elite level. Even if his younger brother was also elite, there is no way he could take five saiyan warriors himself.”

He’d thought the same. “We obviously can’t be sure because the video was incomplete, however that is what it looks like. Also . . . ”

“What is it?” his son asked, obviously interested.

The king sighed. “I also have reason to believe that the savior is on that planet.”

Prince Vegeta scoffed, turning away in disdain. “The savior is a myth. If any saiyan on this planet truly had the power to defeat Frieza, they would have taken credit for it.”

The prince didn't elaborate on what any of them truly thought—that if there was a saiyan strong enough to defeat Frieza, he or she would have already eliminated the royal family and taken power for themselves. It was yet another reason why some viewed the savior as a myth and yet another point of interest for the king . . . another reason he believed what he did. 

“The saiyan was a half-breed,” the king said quietly.

His son let out a loud snort of a laugh. “Now I really know you are delusional, father. Half-breeds are weaker than their saiyan parents, that’s why it’s all but forbidden to breed outside our race.” The prince paused as he eyed the king speculatively. “Or at least it used to be.”

He heard the accusation loud and clear but didn’t rise to the bait. “We have proof of his existence.”

The prince raised a brow. “What proof?”

“We recovered strands of his hair after the battle. And Bardock—” he began to explain, but the younger saiyan curt him off.”

“Your bed-toy went stark raving mad after hearing his team was killed in battle twenty five years ago. The fact that you are listening to his delusions—”

The king felt a vein in his head begin to throb. “That was not the only time Bardock’s predictions have come true. I have never let him know what I suspect about him but I’ve kept him near in order to take full advantage of his knowledge of the future.”

Which was not something the king was terribly proud of, but he’d be a fool not to listen when Bardock slipped suggestions to him about sending saiyans into various battles with the arcosians. Frieza’s people had little qualms with sacrificing their vessels and crashing into Saiyan ships, killing everyone on board as they lost life support and atmosphere while the arcosians survived in space.

He’d never let anyone know just how many ambushes had been avoided and lives saved because of the whispers of a third-class in the darkness of his bedroom.

“You’ve been bedding that third class because you think he can see the future?” his son asked with a cocked brow.

The king chose his words carefully. “I know he has visions that show possible outcomes of the future but nothing is ever certain, and no that is not the only reason. But Bardock is not the reason I called you in here. Kakarot is on that planet along with someone who may be the savior. I want you to take the Protector to Earth and retrieve them both along with any saiyans who may have survived after losing communication with us.”

His son watched him for a few seconds. “If the man on that planet is indeed the savior, how do you expect me to force someone who can defeat Frieza to do anything?” he questioned, and it was a legitimate concern, but if what he suspected was true, then the prince shouldn’t have much issue.

The king smiled. “I have every faith in your ability to get your way, no matter the situation. And make sure to take at least a few of the women on that planet. I would know definitively that introducing human DNA into our gene-pool will increase the overall power-levels of our people.”

The prince nodded begrudgingly. “Our people will not stand for you telling them that half-breeds are more powerful than full-blooded saiyans.”

The king shrugged. “Why do you think I have never spoken publicly of any of this? I would need proof to show it’s true beyond a few stands of lavender hair.”

The prince was silent for a moment, no doubt rolling the mission as well as the risks around in his mind. Finally he gave a shallow inclination of his head. “I will do as you wish, Father.”

Vegeta returned the gesture and his son left the room after being dismissed. The secretary resumed taking notes as a few advisers entered to discuss palace matters with the king.

 

####  **_Andalosia, Arcosian Homeworld_ **

“My lord, you requested any updates on the . . . issue.”

Frieza looked up from his glass of wine with a sneer.

So they’d made another appearance. That disgusting lavender-haired saiyan abomination continued to mock him by occasionally attacking and destroying his purging squads. It was a way of letting Frieza know that he was still around . . . watching.

The arcosian clenched his fist and the glass shattered, causing the soldier to flinch. He had worked hard to keep reports of a pair of powerful warriors—one of them crowned in pale purple hair—from making its way into the gossip cycle. He had already been humiliated on Vegeta-sei and any more doubts of his power could destabilize his empire further.

“A squad has gone missing.”

His eye twitched. “Is that _it?”_

The soldier swallowed fearfully before bowing. “Sire, this was a _saiyan_ squad that made a specific trip to a planet far outside either the Arcosian or the Saiyan Empires.”

Now that . . . that was unusual. The saiyans weren’t in the planet purging business anymore—not since they’d broken from the arcosians. They were in the protection business these days. They protected planets from arcosian purging squads in exchange for fealty and taxes, but otherwise left the planets to their own devices and way of life. It was all rather disgusting.

Which is why it made no sense for them to send scouts and squads outside their borders.

“And why would the monkeys do something like that?” he asked, holding his hand out and a servant rushed to wipe his hand clean of wine and glass.

The soldier swallowed audibly before answering. “One of the last saiyans sent out on a purge was an infant. He arrived on the planet but was never heard from again. Six years ago, the king started a program designed to seek out all the infants that were sent out over the years. A scout went to the planet, but immediately lost contact. Two more followed, but just like the first one, the ships and scouters were destroyed completely. The saiyans had classified it as a dead-zone planet after the third scout, requiring further study but it is so far removed that it was not considered an immediate threat or issue.”

“Then why send the squad?”

The soldier took a steadying breath. “The infant in question is the younger brother of an elite and the son of—of . . .”

“Who?” he asked dangerously.

“He is the son of Bardock. The squad was lead by the saiyan elite, Raditz, but he and his squad have now gone missing as well.”

Three scouts and an entire squad missing—and all on behalf of the king’s lover . . . This was getting more and more interesting.

“Anything else?”

“Sire . . . the saiyan king has—has sent the _prince_.”

Frieza’s eyes narrowed. There was only one reason and one reason alone that Vegeta would send his only son to this planet. Whatever was there was valuable—perhaps the most valuable thing in the galaxy.

_ The half-breed. _

He’d known for years that the super saiyan did not reside on Vegeta-sei, but he’d never known where to even begin looking for the lavender monkey.

“Exactly how far afield is this planet?” he asked, something like delight coloring his voice.

“It would be a minimum of four months travel by standard ship.”

He smirked. “Begin mobilizing our entire military.”

“My lord?”

Frieza turned away and looked out of the viewport towards Andalosia. His capital was not nearly the thriving metropolis it had been all those years ago . . . but it would soon regain its former glory. 

“It’s time for those monkeys to face extinction as they should have twenty-five years ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I did make a timeline of the events of this fic and I'm debating on posting it as a sort of side document so if there is ever any confusion about what is going on and when, you can refer to the timeline. I won't post the whole thing at once cause that would be major spoilers, but if there is interest I'll update it as I update this fic.
> 
> Also, I do have a secondary document that's just Bardock and the King side chapters(tbh, they're my fave lol). Basically, when there are references in this fic to things that happened between them over the course of the twenty plus years they've been together, I usually write out that scene in its entirety even if I don't actually use it in the fic. If ya'll would like me to post those chapters as well, I can do that. I can also maybe include them as random interludes after the chapters that reference the scene.
> 
> Let me know what you think. :)


	6. Chapter 6

####  **_Vegeta-sei_ **

Bardock finished his latest test on the blood of the tredg. They were a race of lizard-like beings that could regrow limbs. They were peaceful in nature, however the saiyans would find it very useful if new limbs could be grown in a lab for fighters that had lost a leg or an arm. He had already perfected the growth of organs and Paragus had managed to regrow tails—if the saiyan in question could afford the procedure—but this was an entirely new way to produce something as complex as a working leg with bone, tissue, and blood vessels in place that would not be rejected by the receiver’s body.

He was thinking over various applications when the door to his lab slid open. There hadn't been a chime so the person had clearance to be there, but whoever it was hadn't announced themselves either. There were few saiyans that could simply walk into his lab and even fewer still that were rude enough to stand there in silence waiting for him to acknowledge them.

He kept his features carefully placid as he turned around to face the newcomer. "What can I do for you, Cado?" he asked.

The king's secretary was looking over his lab like it was a messy child’s playroom. “I see you are staying busy despite your inability to locate the savior.”

Bardock didn’t rise to the other saiyan’s baited words—too many years of pointed barbs and outright lies had conditioned him to all but ignore the other saiyan. Still, the streak of pettiness could not be helped.

“I chair and co-chair several science and education departments within the state," he said with a tilt of his head. "I do not while away my days behind a computer terminal looking for one man in a galaxy of trillions upon trillions of people.”

Cado snorted. “Yes, so much responsibility for one man—one does wonder how you even continue to function with the way you spread your legs for the king at night while running so many departments during the day.”

Bardock’s brows shot up as he examined the other saiyan. Cado had never made any secret of his disdain for Bardock—towards low-class saiyans in general, despite the fact that he was also of the third-class. But while Bardock had been born of a second and third class mating, Cado had come from a house of elites. He was the shame of his family—proof that the elite class didn’t always produce strong offspring. Cado also, while not especially bright, was still fairly cunning and he’d risen up the ladder as far as he’d thought someone of his power level could go—that of the king’s personal assistant.

Afterall, weaklings rarely became officers in the military, and the elite houses would never allow a third-class to serve in any positions of power within the empire . . . That is, of course, until the king gave them no choice. He’d established several new departments within the last two decades devoted to science, technology, and more recently, education. Bardock had never questioned the king specifically about why these departments had been created or why the king had put a third-class scientist in charge of establishing them.

He didn’t think he’d like the answer he’d receive.

Perhaps they were rewards for a job well done or perhaps the king truly thought him fit for the duty. Either way, there was little argument these days about Bardock’s ability to plan and install capable people within his ever-expanding domain, but there were still those, such as Cado, that despised how far he’d come, ostensibly on his skill in the bedroom rather than the battlefield.

Cado walked around looking at the various computer stations and equipment. “But that time has come to an end now. You are no longer needed here.”

Bardock raised a brow. “What are you talking about? Only the king can dismiss me from my post.”

The secretary shrugged. “I know you think me hateful toward you and parasitic ways, however I have decided to be generous with you and save you the embarrassment of the king personally sending you away.”

Cado reached up and tapped the button on the side of his scouter.

Bardock immediately heard the King’s voice followed by that of his son.

_“We have proof of his existence.”_

_“What proof?”_

_“We recovered strands of his hair after the battle. And Bardock—”_

_“Your bedtoy went stark raving mad after hearing his team was killed in battle twenty five years ago. The fact that you are listening to his delusions—”_

_“That was not the only time Bardock’s predictions have come true. I have never let him know what I suspect about him but I’ve kept him near in order to take full advantage of his knowledge of the future.”_

_“You’ve been bedding that third class because you think he can see the future?”_

_“I know he has visions that show possible outcomes of the future.”_

The recording stopped, but Bardock had heard enough. “Come to gloat, Cado? I’d have thought that beneath you.”

Cado’s voice took on a poisonous hiss. “Nothing is beneath me when it comes to the safety and respectability of our royal house. You’ve been tarnishing the King and his family for over twenty years but he no longer has need of you. He is sending the prince to retrieve the savior. Leave now, while you still have your dignity.”

And with that Cado walked out, leaving Bardock to stew in his own conflicted feelings and anger.  _Fucking Vegeta and his royal bullshit,_  he thought acidly before letting out a sigh and sitting back from his terminal. Cado was an insect—barely worthy of the name, saiyan, but the recording stood. Bardock was no naive fool. He'd slipped hints here and there through the years that kept his people from losing key battles and the king had never questioned his advice.

But to hear their . . . their relationship cut down to that bare minimum of consideration . . .

The third-class stood up. He'd tried to leave this planet so many times, but he'd always been dragged back, talked out of it, coerced and blackmailed by the king, but no more. Raditz, if he was alive, was on that planet with Kakarot and the savior. Vegeta no longer had his son to dangle before him, and there was nothing tying the scientist to this planet any longer.

He saved and backed up his work before closing up his terminal. He didn't speak to any of the techs who looked on in question as he exited the lab without a word. The king had clearly been making plans behind his back, keeping his own secrets and suspicions about Bardock. The prince? Going to Earth?

He couldn’t let this happen.  _Any of it._

 

####  **_Earth, Present_ **

Raditz raised a brow as he exited the tiny home. He'd slept on his host's sofa the night before and he was having to shift his back in several directions to work the kinks out. The saiyan grimaced at the ache, but that fell away as his eyes landed on the half-breed. Trunks moved slowly through his stretches, the muscles sliding smoothly beneath his skin as his body contorted and held various positions.

“Getting a good look?” the lavender-hired warrior asked.

He snorted. “Well the view is certainly not without its charm.”

Truthfully, though, Trunks was quite unattractive with his lavender hair and blue eyes. It was unnatural for one of their race to look the way he did. Raditz had seen the odd albino saiyan on occasion with their pure white skin and hair, but purple? What an unsightly color to have displayed on such a powerful representative of their species. Had Trunks been born in the old days, he'd have been put down at birth simply for the way he looked.

But while all these thoughts swirled in his mind, he was also aware of Trunks' power, and  _power_  . . . well that was always enticing.

The half-breed shook his head. “Whatever. If you’re ready to go, Bulma said that she’d take a look at replicating your armor today.”

Raditz narrowed his eyes at the statement. As far as he was aware, Trunks had no method of communication outside direct contact so how would she have known to expect them? Perhaps humans were telepathic? That would be an interesting trait. He would note his suspicions down.

“Our reports did not show the humans to be as advanced as you claim them to be—certainly not far enough along to replicate my armor.”

Trunks snorted. “You’d be surprised at how far they’ve come in just the last ten years.”

The saiyan felt his brow furrow in confusion, but followed nonetheless as Trunks put his shirt back on and began to rise in the air. He suck close to the half-breed, but his eyes moved over the cities and landscape of the planet as they made their way to their destination.

Capsule Corp.

The complex was massive but Trunks seemed to know exactly where to go so Raditz followed behind him silently. The big saiyan stuck out like a sore thumb and he could see all the humans gawking at him as they walked towards a large yellow building marked ‘Research and Development’.

They came to a door with no handle and Trunks put his hand onto the scanner off to the side. The door slid open smoothly and they entered. The humans automatically stepped out of the way of Trunks when they saw him, some even bowing in respect. The half-breed nodded to all of them. Trunks was obviously well known around here.

They came to another door that required additional scanning and before it had even opened further and female voice called, “Trunks!”

The blue haired girl from the day before waved at them from across the room. There were tables and tables with equipment, parts, and computer stations strewn about in what seemed an almost haphazard way. It reminded him of his own father’s labs.

Bulma and Trunks embraced for a few seconds before pulling apart. Raditz looked between the pair. “Is she your sister?” It would explain the deference that the humans around here had shown him.

Bulma laughed while Trunks blushed. “See? Another person thinks we’re related!”

Trunks looked away. “No, we’re not related. We just have similar coloring. I also do some freelance work for Capsule Corp on occasion.”

Raditz’s brows rose. The boy was uncomfortable with the question and was lying. While last night, his answers had been mechanical and practiced so as not to give away his secrets, Trunks seemed caught off guard and flustered by the question of his relationship with Bulma which meant they were, in fact, related in some way.

“Take your armor off.”

Raditz was shaken from his thoughts by the order. He looked at the waif-like girl. “What?”

She blinked, clearly not intimidated. “I need to see what it’s made of before I can replicate it. I’ll get you something else in the meantime.”

Raditz hesitated and looked over towards Trunks. The half-breed nodded in what he supposed was encouragement, but the saiyan still grimaced as he finally began to pull off the armor. Bulma walked away quickly and came back with a large sealed bin.

“Trunks, these are for you,” she said as she pulled the top off. “But they should fit your friend here too. The fabric is even stronger this time.”

Trunks looked down at the contents dubiously, “You really like putting me in purple, don’t you?”

The woman shrugged. “What can I say, it’s your color. And if I didn’t pick out your clothes for you then you’d just wear black or grey all the time. This color says you’re broody but still fashionable.”

Bulma picked up the armor and took it to one of her work stations, leaving the saiyans to look through the bin of clothing. Raditz looked towards the half-breed and noticed that his top and pants had clearly been torn and patched in places.

“Do the female humans make clothing for their males?” Raditz had seen cultures where clothing was made in the home but it was rare to find such a thing in the more advanced races.

Trunks shook his head. “No, most people around here buy their clothes from businesses that specialize in selling clothing. But that stuff is all made for normal wear and tear by humans. It’s not made to withstand the type of beating that Goku and I and a few of our friends put it through.”

It did not appear that Trunks planned to change and instead he passed over the purple clothing for the set of fabrics beneath. He tossed a tight crimson shirt along with a darker pair of loose pants towards Raditz.

He immediately noticed that while the other clothing had been loose and similar to what the half-breed currently sported, that red top was stretchier and obviously designed to be more form-fitting.

“I don’t do the skin-tight thing anymore,” Trunks said in explanation to the unasked question. “And while red might look good on her, I’m still not that into it.”

Raditz actually liked the color so he had no complaints and pulled the pants and top on. He moved his red thigh band to his left arm so it sat under the one already located there.

“Why are you not changing as well?” he asked.

“This stuff still works okay.”

“Trunks, you’ve been wearing that same set of clothing for the last couple of weeks. It’s probably growing its own ecosystem by now!” Bulma called from the other room, clearly having listened in on their conversation.

Raditz snorted out a laugh as the half-breed rolled his eyes, but he did begin to pull off the soiled clothing. He removed all but his under-shorts, and held a matching dark purple top and pant set.

Raditz could not help it as his eyes strayed to Trunks as the man changed and he took in the scarring that littered the half-breed’s body. One would think Trunks had been part of a purging squad with the sheer number of wounds, but that wasn’t right. No . . . these kinds of scars . . . they were designed to torture and inflict pain and they overlapped one another many times. They were all long since healed, but there was a history of pain and suffering there on display on the half-breed’s body.

Was that how Trunks had gotten so strong? Had he been continuously beaten to within an inch of his life?

He'd heard of some saiyans resorting to such tactics—mutilating and at times nearly killing themselves in their quest to become stronger, but this . . .

“Did you kill him in the end?” Raditz asked quietly just as they finished dressing.

Trunks blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Whoever did that to you. Is he dead?”

Trunks snorted and his mouth twisted into a smirk that was somewhat familiar to the saiyan. “They are long since dead—nothing but dust.”

Raditz nodded in satisfaction. “Good.”

Trunks looked as Raditz pulled experimentally on the cloth.  _Hard._ Surprisingly, it didn’t tear.

The lavender-haired warrior spoke up. “Both Goku and I would have to replace our clothing after every spar so Bulma came up with a synthetic cloth that can withstand a lot more damage but is still light and can breathe like a natural fiber. That’s why we get our stuff from here.”

Raditz nodded and the pair left the area and went back out into the main lab. He spotted the female as she hunched over his chest piece.

His eyes widened almost comically as he watched her  _saw_ into his armor. “Woman! What are you doing?”

She didn’t even look up as Raditz and Trunks came up behind her. “It looks like some sort of super tough polymer sandwiched with a Kevlar material and a resin . . .” she said, trailing off thoughtfully as she examined the material under a microscope.

He looked down at her as she continued to speak, his eyes locking on a loose strand of hair laying on her shoulder. He reached over as if to pick up one of his gauntlets and the woman predictably slapped his hand to keep it away. He took the strand as he pulled his hand back and let out a ‘Bah!’ as if annoyed and walked back to the bin.

He easily slid the hair sample into the case. When he returned to Vegeta-sei, he’d tell the king that it should be tested against the savior’s hair. Bulma was too young to have mothered Trunks or the savior but she might be a half sibling or close cousin and that made her worth something if the king was trying to find the right combination of genes to create stronger saiyan warriors.

The woman used tweezers to extract tiny samples of the materials that made up the armor and put them one by one into some kind of analyzer.

“It’ll take me about an hour to analyze all these different materials and get them entered into the computer in a 3D model. We’ll synthesize the ingredients and then start printing them.”

Raditz looked up. “Printing?”

Trunks nodded. “Capsule Corp has the best 3D printers in the world. You just enter in the computer what you want and this machine,” he began as he pointed with his thumb to a large grey metal box that had a clear glass front, “will create it for you.”

Bulma smiled. “It’s a bit more involved than that, especially something as intricate as this piece is but that’s pretty much the gist of it. It’ll take a couple of hours to complete the process this first time but after that, I should be able to do three or four an hour with this machine.”

Trunks pointed back behind him with his thumb. “While we’re waiting for the first one, you mind if we give this stuff a whirl?”

Bulma looked up from her computer as if remembering something. “I almost forgot. I have something for you.” She left her station and walked over to a wall-mounted storage box. She scanned in her palm print on a side panel and the box opened revealing a set of clear shelves that had holes cut into them every few inches. Some of the holes contained small grey rounded items. She picked one out of the container and shut the door before walking back to Trunks.

She must have seen Raditz’s confused look because she smiled at him. “This is a capsule. Our company makes them.” She turned back to Trunks. “Let’s go outside.”

“Alright.”

The saiyans followed her out and she continued speaking to Trunks. “Those last designs were amazing but not really something that we can use directly in the open market. But we’re modifying the tech to create zero-gravity simulators. The closest people have gotten to such a thing is taking a high altitude plane and dropping it quickly but this will be a true simulator that can be used on the ground.”

Trunks nodded in understanding. “That’s great, Bulma.”

She snorted. “Yes, I can see the excitement rolling off you in waves. I swear Trunks, you need to take better care of yourself. You won’t be a young man entering tournaments forever. The patent for this tech is in your name. I was thinking you could perhaps start a small company that manufactures these zero-gravity chambers. They would be big hits with amusement parks, arcades, and even with governments and sub-contractors.”

The half-breed shrugged. “I’m not really a business guy, Bulma. I just like to stick with fighting and well, you’ve always been very generous with the payouts from my designs so I’ve got plenty of money—more than I’d ever spend in my lifetime, probably.” They stepped outside of the building and back into the sunlight.

Bulma turned to the lavender-haired warrior. “Trunks, you’re like a brother to me. I just want to make sure that if I’m ever not around, you can take care of yourself.”

Trunks abruptly faced his friend. “Is something wrong, Bulma?”

She quickly waved her hand in front of her. “No, nothing really. I’ve just been having this feeling since last night that something is wrong.”

Trunks didn’t know what to say. He’d known that his mother in his own timeline would have these sorts of feelings of dread. She’d had them right before Gohan had died and just before the androids had tried to kill her personally once because they were annoyed with Trunks. He’d been able to save her but he’d never forgotten to heed her words.

She smiled at him encouragingly. “I’m sure it’s nothing but that’s not why I dragged you out here.”

She held up the capsule and clicked it before throwing it to the ground. There was an explosion and when the smoke cleared, Raditz took a step back.

“What the hell is that? How did that just appear?”

Bulma turned back to the alien. “Raditz, we make capsules for storing homes, vehicles, ships and a number of other things.”

“That thing was in that tiny pod?”

Trunks answered. “Yes. And the house we are staying in is also kept in a capsule similar to this one.”

“How is that possible?” he asked, mind racing with all the possible applications of such tech within in the Saiyan Empire. His father would have a field day with such a thing.

Bulma smiled lazily. “Boy that is a very long conversation that requires some diagrams that are company secrets so it’s best to just accept it and move on. Anyway, this is the gravity chamber I put together based on your design specs.”

“I thought it wasn’t viable for Capsule Corp,” Trunks said as he looked the large pod over.

She quirked a brow. “Maybe not to sell but I made a few of them for you and Goku and the others in the gang. I had meant to give them to you at the reunion,” she peered over at Raditz. “But that didn’t really happen. Why don’t you boys test it out for me while I finish up Raditz’s armor and let me know if I need to modify anything.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great Bulma,” Trunks said in an irritatingly reassuring tone.

The woman apparently didn’t need it. “Of course it will,” she said with a nod. “I made it. Oh, and before I forget again, here.”

Bulma pulled a pair of white gloves from her back pocket. “Fresh off the assembly line, just like you asked for.”

Trunks took the gloves with a smile and pulled them on. “Assembly line, huh?”

Bulma put her hand on her hips in exasperation. “They’re good for more than just fighting, you know. One of our subsidiaries is packaging them for hazardous material handling, among other things.”

Trunks laughed a bit. “Fair enough. They fit great!”

As Raditz looked on, he eyed the gloves. That was a distinctly saiyan sartorial choice and Raditz had not seen any other human sporting such a thing. The saiyan royal family in particular all wore gloves in order to protect their hands. It wasn’t something that Raditz thought important but royals should have no calluses on their hands, apparently.

“Come on Raditz. Let’s give it a whirl.”

Raditz followed the other man into the large capsule and looked around. “What exactly are we doing in here?” he asked, his tone more than a touch condescending.

Trunks didn’t seem bothered. “We’ll be training in here for a couple of hours, testing it out to make sure it’s working before we take it home.”

He eyed the constrained proportions of the pod. “Why not train outside? This is quite small if we intend to spar.”

“This is why.”

The door shut when Trunks hit a button on the console off to the side. He pressed a few other buttons and suddenly it felt like Raditz was back on Vegeta-sei which had roughly ten times Earth’s gravity. This sort of gravity would crush lesser beings but Raditz looked over and Trunks was not phased in the slightest.

The half-breed looked up from the console. “This machine goes up to four hundred times Earth’s gravity.”

Raditz blinked. “F—Four hundred!?”

“Yes, as you get stronger, you eventually will need to raise the gravity in order for it to be a challenge. Now, would you like to train individually or spar?” Trunks asked with a touch of arrogance.

“I am anxious to fight you, half-breed.”

“Hmmm.” Trunks raised his hand in a ‘come here’ gesture. “Let’s see what you got.”

“You asked for it.”

And with that Raditz launched himself at the other warrior, his punch was blocked and Trunks threw himself into the fight. He kept his power low so that the fight would be fair and also so he could just enjoy it.

The pair had been sparring for close to an hour when it happened.

Trunks raised his hand. “Detructo-Disk!”

The spinning circle of energy came careening towards Raditz who dodged out of the way but while the energy blast missed his body, his hair was not so lucky.

_It was an odd feeling,_ Raditz mused during the few seconds of shock he experienced as he looked down at the pile of black hair on the ground,  _to have one’s body feel so lightened._ As that wore off, the anger set in.

“What the fuck! My hair!” he screamed, his hands clutching at the singed ends of his shortened mane.

Trunks blinked. “Oh! Sorry about that!”

The saiyan’s hands were shaking with unconcealed rage. “I’ll show you sorry!”

Raditz powered up to perhaps his highest level ever and let loose a barrage of punches and kicks. They all hit as Trunks did not bother to block any of them. Raditz backed away panting, his anger draining away even as he saw that Trunks was not harmed in the slightest despite the abuse that had been rained down on him.

“Do you feel better?” the half-breed asked.

He glared at the lavender-haired man. “No, dammit!”

“Shorter hair is easier to maintain and doesn’t hinder you in battle as much,” Trunks said in that same  _encouraging_ tone he’d used with the woman.

Raditz eyed the soft lavender locks that brushed past Trunk’s shoulders. “Long hair is a point of pride for saiyans who are lucky enough to have it! It shows that you are superior in battle because no one has been able to cut it.”

Trunks seemed to understand his words and he fingered his own hair for a second before responding. “Oh. I really am sorry. It’ll grow back eventually.”

The saiyan let out a feral growl. “It will be  _decades_ before it’s back to its former length!”

“That long, huh? Wow,” he said before apparently deciding to completely drop the subject. “Anyway, why don’t we take a break and check on Bulma.”

Raditz looked towards the pile of hair on the ground and resisted the urge to gather it up and carry it with him. That was too weak for him to stomach so he left it there. When they exited the pod, Trunks turned back to it and pressed a series of buttons on the side and stepped back.

A few seconds later, the explosion sounded for the second time and in its wake, there was only the small grey capsule left on the ground. Trunks picked it up and the pair made their way inside.

“Bulma!” Trunks called as they walked back into the lab.

The woman turned back to face them, a smile on her face. “Hey that was qui-Oh my god, Raditz your hair!”

The now shorn saiyan felt a hot flush rising upon his cheeks that was made worse when he heard Trunks whisper. “Don’t mention it. He’s kinda sensitive about his hair.”

She nodded solemnly. “Got it. Anyway, Raditz, we’re almost done with your other gauntlet. It didn’t take me quite as long as I had thought because I ended up making some design decisions about that armor of yours. It looks much better now.”

Raditz eyed the new chest piece. It lacked the hip, groin, and shoulder armor that had been on the original. “Woman, my armor is not a fashion choice. It keeps me alive.”

Bulma raised a brow in disdain. “Kind of like how you were running around in your underwear yesterday and leaving your legs and arms totally exposed? Which part of that getup was keeping you alive?”

Raditz growled and took a step forward but Trunks was quick to step in-between them. “Now, now, no fighting children. Raditz, you have Bulma’s new clothes for extra protection and losing those extra armor pieces and adding the straps on there will give you better range of movement.”

The human looked pleased. “Exactly.”

Raditz let out a “feh” and turned back to examining the new chest piece. The human and Trunks were correct, it would be far more maneuverable and he was impressed by the clothing he currently wore even if it wasn’t his usual style. Saiyans tended to prefer showing off their muscles with skin-tight or little clothing. These human fighters were far more partial to clothing that had more give. But still . . . the choice to eliminate the shoulder guards changed the way the armor looked . . . it seemed far less arcosian now.

He slipped the armor over his head and fitted it into place over the red shirt. Bulma handed him the new completed gauntlet and he examined it. She’d changed the coloring of the armor as well from black to white.

Bulma eyed him as he twisted this way and that, testing the armor. “Red for you from now on, I think. It’s definitely your color. Might try white on the armor color next time, though. It would look good with the red.”

The second gauntlet finished and she handed that to him as well. “I guess you guys are done for the day. Trunks how was the gravity chamber?”

“It was great. I think we both got a good work out in.”

“I’m glad it’s working for you. Let me know if you have any issues. Oh, Trunks, I picked up the wreckage from the ship that our friend here arrived in. Some amazing stuff there but not as fast as my new capsule long range vessels.”

That brought the half-breed up short. “Bulma, whatever you do, don’t turn that stuff on.”

The woman waved him off. “Don’t worry Trunks. I know what I’m doing. I’m just taking it apart and examining its power source. Anyway, come back in a couple of days and I’ll have a new capsule full of clothing and armor for Raditz.” She paused as she tapped a finger on her chin in contemplation. “You know, the fact that you and Goku are from an alien race that lives and breathes fighting has made a lot things make much more sense.” Trunks sent her a withering look that had her laughing.

He shook his head before turning back towards Raditz. “We have to stop by the showroom real quick and then we’ll leave.

The saiyan raised a brow but said nothing. He had no idea what a show room was anyway.

“Why the showroom?” Bulma asked.

“The capsule house I have is fine for me, but for two of us . . .”

Bulma’s eyes slid back to Raditz, moving up and down his rather gargantuan frame before nodding. “You know, I have an alpha 3031 version of the capsule house in the lab right now. Do you want it?”

Trunks pursed his lips. “I was planning to buy a new one today,” he began but Bulma rolled her eyes.

“Trunks, you’re family. I can’t let you buy a capsule house when I  _manufacture_ capsule houses,” she said. “And besides, the 3031 is still in the experimental phase. The one I’m giving you is a spare that we were working with in the lab, but we’re done with it. It’s going to be destroyed anyway.”

Raditz watched as Trunks still hesitated. Despite the girl’s declaration that they were family, it seemed the young man was still resistant to the idea of taking something from her.

“Are we not taking the gravity chamber?” Raditz questioned, bringing the half-breed up short.

“I—yes, we are.”

“Then you can take her little pod house too. You wished for a second larger unit and she is willing to provide one because she values you and your sense of comfort.”

Bulma nodded. “What he said,” she added.

Trunks finally nodded and Bulma cracked a smile before clapping Raditz on the back. “Glad one of you guys gets it,” she said and Raditz looked down at her, noticing that her eyes were an identical shade of blue to the half-breed.

She walked over to Trunks and handed him the capsule and the saiyan continued to watch them as they spoke. There was a deference that the half-breed showed towards the woman and a mutual affection that spoke of a strong bond. They had similar mannerisms and while Trunks had a definite saiyan quality with his large muscles and angular features, but there was a softness to him that was decidedly human.

There was also an apparent brilliance in Trunks. Raditz had picked up enough of the conversation between the half-breed and the blue-haired woman to know that Trunks had not only designed the gravity chamber but apparently had designed other machines for the woman’s company.

Trunks was intelligent and while Raditz wasn’t overly familiar with others of the human race, he’d seen enough to know that Bulma and Trunks were far from the intellectual norm amongst their species. Yet another piece of evidence that this woman was assuredly related to Trunks in some way.

It was then that Trunks looked up from his conversation and caught Raditz eyeing them pensively. The half-breed shifted away from Bulma uncomfortably and she blinked in confusion but said nothing about it.

“Time to head home, Raditz. But we need to pick up some food on the way.”

Raditz nodded and followed the other man out without another word. Bulma waved them goodbye, a gesture Trunks returned before they lifted off and flew into the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some really rough images back in 2013 when I was writing this that shows my idea of Trunks and Raditz at this point. They're aren't great and I'm pretty sure I traced some stuff back then but I have no idea of a source. I've got some better pics coming up for later in the story, but I wanted to share these, anyway.
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> Ideally, I'll be uploading a chapter a day, but I hope you'll bear with me during the holidays. :) 


	7. Chapter 7

Days had passed since the last time the king had seen Bardock. He’d tried to give the other man _space_ to grieve for his dead son, but the third-class was supposed to have been among the various department heads that made their weekly reports this morning. But he hadn’t come. Instead, others had come in Bardock’s place. While it wasn’t unusual for one or two to replace third-class on occasion, Bardock had never entirely missed a debriefing day.

His lover was exceptionally good at hiring competent people and he had a sixth sense about who would do a good job in a given position. He’d also mastered the ability to delegate amongst the departments he ran—a trait that many other saiyans dismissed as to share one’s power was to give up power.

Perhaps he’d required more time to grieve and he’d simply shifted responsibility to his underlings temporarily. Saiyans did not typically do more than the bare minimum to show respect for dead relatives—they rarely got the bodies back, anyway—but Vegeta was aware that Bardock was . . . different from other saiyans.

Still, the king was tired of waiting to see his lover and as the meeting came to an end he leaned towards his secretary.

Cado dutifully leaned forwards as well. “Yes, sire?”

“Send a request to Bardock for him to join me for a lunch meeting since he did not report in this morning.” It would be too public a meeting for anything too intimate, but at least he’d be able to see Bardock and gauge the third-class’s mindset.

The secretary looked away, blinking rapidly. The king raised a brow. “Is something wrong?” he asked just as the room echoed with the loud click of the door shutting behind the last official as she left. They were alone and Vegeta could only hear the nervous increase in the rate of Cado’s breathing.

The weaker saiyan swallowed. “I’m sorry, sire, but Bardock is no longer in the palace.”

Something unpleasant began to swirl in the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean, he’s not in the palace?” he asked, his voice low, betraying none of the anxiety that was beginning to creep through his mind. Bardock had tried to leave him in the past, but he hadn’t attempted such a thing in nearly a decade. Vegeta had thought they were past all of that . . .

The secretary swallowed. “Sire, Bardock resigned his post two days ago and left the planet yesterday.”

Two days . . . he’d been especially busy the last two days dealing with Bardock’s upstart of a brother. Vegeta felt his eye twitch as he watched Cado. “Should I not have been notified that one of the most influential men in the government has resigned?”

Cado bowed. “Sire . . . despite Bardock’s lofty status, he is hardly irreplaceable. The saiyans that reported in are clearly capable of filling in the vacancies.”

The king scoffed. “Do I look like an idiot to you, Cado?”

“I—I’m . . . That is . . .” the secretary began but could not seem to find the right words.

The king raised a brow. “Or perhaps _you’re_ the idiot. Considering all that you are privy to in your job, this feels like you deliberately keeping information from your king.”

Cado reared back. “I would never—”

Vegeta snorted. “And yet you did. Why?”

The secretary swallowed before apparently screwing up his courage. “Sire. He will only bring shame to the royal house if you continue carrying on with him! He is not worthy of you. His leaving will help you to focus on what is most important.”

The king's face flattened. “And what is most important?” he asked, his voice betraying none of the rage boiling up inside.

Cado had begun to sweat in apprehension. “Our war with Frieza. He draws closer and closer to us because he thinks we have lost the protection of the purple-haired warrior. If we do not find him, everything will be lost.”

“I know all of this, already!” the king barked out.

“Then you know that Bardock, with his visions of the future and possible knowledge of his son’s continued existence on Earth—that he was more than likely deliberately concealing that planet and the fact that the savior resided there! If you had put another in charge of the project, we may have found him years ago.”

The king’s eye twitched in fury at the words because they were more than likely true. He’d known for years that Bardock was hiding something big but he’d never thought it might be the savior. Cado was a sniveling weak excuse for a saiyan, but he'd clearly been thinking about this for a while. Perhaps in another life Cado could have done better for himself, but the king couldn’t allow such doubts in his leadership to fester within the palace.

Without hesitation, he lifted his hand and blasted the secretary from existence leaving only ash and a blast mark on the opposite wall. Vegeta got up from his chair and walked slowly towards the doors. They opened for him as the guards there came to flank his side. They said nothing, of course, of the now dead saiyan, but soon enough, servants would scurry inside to clean up the mess.

 _Damn Bardock for leaving,_ he thought as he made his way to one of the command rooms. An officer was by his side instantly.

“Welcome, sire. Is there anything I can do to assist you?”

“Bardock, son of Kartock left the planet yesterday. I need his location.”

The saiyan nodded quickly and began calling out orders to the techs.

Mere seconds passed before one spoke up. “He has not gotten far, just outside the system. His pod is headed for planet 4902-C.”

_The dead-zone planet._

Vegeta’s fists clenched. “Send a ship out and bring the pod back. Don’t bother waking him.”

He turned away and walked out. He’d get Bardock back, find the purple-haired warrior and Frieza would be destroyed.

He’d keep his family safe. His son, Bardock, and . . . the lost prince.

 

####  **_Earth, Present_ **

Raditz eyed the half-breed from the window of the gravity chamber as he sat outside. Trunks’ home was situated in the transition from a forest to a rocky plateau of cavernous ravines and rivers. The forest provided meat and wild vegetables while the plateau was favored as an ideal place to spar when Kakarot showed up.

Trunks was currently sitting beneath the shade of a tree, his eyes closed in meditation and he hadn’t moved in hours. Raditz couldn’t help the way his eyes traveled over the shirtless form of his host. It was warm outside and even in the shade, sweat beaded up and glistened over the half-breed’s skin.

Raditz had not thought to have the problem he was currently experiencing.

There was no hiding what Trunks was—a half-breed. His lavender hair and blue eyes should have been unsightly to someone of Raditz’ status, but if ever Trunks was within the vicinity, then Raditz’s eyes were on him.

He was . . . drawn to Trunks.

Perhaps it was only that Trunks was the only other saiyan around other than Kakarot. Of course, Kakarot was his younger brother and the spitting image of their father so he was hardly going to find much attractive about the buffoon.

Trunks suddenly opened his eyes and they met Raditz’. The saiyan didn’t step back or show any embarrassment at being caught. The younger man simply shook his head in exasperation and lifted off from the ground. He flew up into the air before taking off towards the heart of the forest. Raditz should have gone back to his training. He was only just mastering fifteen times Earth’s gravity while Kakarot seemed to be able to do at least fifty his first try. Minutes passed as he thought over his options.

He turned the chamber off and left the pod.

Trunks didn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry and Raditz spotted him without difficulty. He kept low to the forest so not to be spotted but followed as closely as he dared. It wasn’t long before Trunks was slowing down and landing in a break in the trees.

A waterfall sounded loudly below as Raditz landed in the tall brush. The lagoon connected the rushing water with a river that moved down the mountain, but the area itself was calm enough to swim. His eyes widened as Trunks began stripping down, pulling his clothing off and putting it aside.

Miles of tanned skin was revealed and Raditz swallowed as his gaze followed the line of his back as it snaked down to the half-breed’s tail spot and the swell of his ass.

The spot . . . it wasn’t the dark brown or even red of most saiyans . . . it was lavender like the hair on his head, like the hair that . . . Trunks turned only slightly to take his shoes off, but it was enough for Raditz to see the lavender-haired warrior’s manhood and the thatch of pale indigo curls that surrounded it.

“Are you going to join me, or just sit in the bushes staring?” Trunks asked as he stepped into the water.

Raditz felt his face flush with embarrassment, but he stood up nonetheless. “You knew I was here.”

“Of course I did.”

“How? You have no scouter.”

Trunks shrugged as he sat down low in the water and leaned against a rock. Raditz pulled his clothing off quickly and stepped into the water. It was frigid by human standards but felt lovely over his strained muscles. Trunks’ eyes had slid shut and Raditz came closer. He wanted badly to touch the other man. His hand came up and reached out to brush against the half-breed’s chest when a loud voice sounded and he snatched his fingers away.

“Trunks! Raditz!”

He looked up just as Kakarot came down for a landing on the bank. He was accompanied by his own half-breed son. Raditz dropped his hand with a sigh of irritation just as Trunk’s eyes opened. The half-breed raised a brow in his direction before he fully turned towards the saiyan's brother and nephew. It was odd for his brother to bring Gohan with him on these visits as Kakarot usually only stopped by to spar with Trunks or Raditz. A weak child would only get in the way. And not only was the boy there, but he was also dressed in a small gi reminiscent of his father’s and Raditz cocked his head.

“Hey guys!” Trunks called. “What’s with the outfit, Goku? I thought Chichi didn’t want him to fight.”

Kakarot sent them a proud smile before gently touching Gohan’s dark head. “Why don’t you explain it, Gohan.”

The boy nodded nervously. “I—I scored the highest of all the students in my aptitude test—even the other homeschoolers and I . . . Mom said I deserved a special reward for doing so well. So I—I asked her if I could train with dad.”

Trunks’ head tilted. That probably had gone over about as well as Gohan asking to snort a line. Goku’s unsure expression confirmed as much, but Trunks smiled anyway.

“I didn’t know you were interested in fighting, Gohan.”

Before the child could respond, Raditz finally spoke up. “Of course he is—he is saiyan.”

All at once, the nervous child looked up with sudden interest. “None of my biology textbooks have mentioned saiyans—I looked in _all_ of them!”

Raditz snorted. “We are not of this world, boy.”

Gohan looked between the three of them. “But you look human. It’s statistically impossible for two species that evolved on separate planets to be identical to one another.”

The saiyan let out a snort. “We are far from identical to the weak humans. Perhaps we share some physical features, however I’ve yet to see a human sporting one of these.”

Raditz held his tail out of the water, waving it slowly while the boy’s eyes went wide.

“Hey, I used to have one too!” the child said with wide blinking eyes.

He'd, of course, noticed the lack of tail on the child during their first meeting, but he'd chalked it up to the boy being a half-breed and humans not having tails. But if both Gohan and Trunks had had tails when they were born . . . the king would be pleased.

Still, he looked up at Kakarot with irritation. “You allowed your son’s tail to be removed?”

“It was too dangerous to keep it.”

Raditz shook his head. “You let this planet full of soft weaklings strip you and now your son of your heritage.”

“I think we’ve managed alright,” Kakarot said pleasantly, but Raditz heard the thread of steel there that told him to drop the subject.

Gohan paddled around the lagoon for awhile while Trunks continued to lean against his rock silently. The water was up to his shoulders and his lavender hair hung down and pooled around him on the surface. At first, Raditz had thought the other man to be meditating, but he eventually noticed that the lavender-haired warrior had actually nodded off. The white noise of the waterfall seemed to lull the younger man into a state of calm—one deep enough to actually facilitate sleep.

Raditz subtly tried to move towards the half-breed once more. How low he’d sunk that he’d try and touch the other man while he slept, but Raditz doubted that he’d get the chance when Trunks awoke. Would his hair be as soft as it looked? Would it slip through his fingers like silk? These questions ran through his mind, but before he could act upon any of them, Kakarot called for him.

“Hey, bro! Let Trunks get his nap. Gohan wants to know more about Saiyan history!”

Raditz felt his brow furrow as he watched the lavender-haired warrior shift slightly at the sound of his name, but otherwise remain unmoving and uncaring of his surroundings. He obviously felt that Raditz wasn’t a threat—especially with Kakarot hanging around like the damn pest that he was.

He turned back to his family. Kakarot and Gohan sat in shallows, the water only coming up to his brother’s hips even sitting. The pair of them were laughing and splashing loudly. Raditz looked back at the calm tranquility of Trunks before grimacing and making his way over to his brother.

He was about to say something when Kakarot leaned in. “Whatever you were thinking about doing—don’t bother,” he said quietly.

Raditz eyed his brother. Was Kakarot claiming the half-breed for himself? His eyes found the scarred over mark on Kakarot's shoulder—one that had no match on Trunks’.

He raised a brow. “The half-breed does not belong to you. You’ve already claimed another.”

Kakarot's hand flew up to cover the mark on his shoulder and his gaze took on a bewildered look. “I’m not ‘claiming’ anyone. I’m just saying, Trunks isn’t gonna be interested in you.”

“And why not?” Raditz asked sharply.

His brother didn't seem to notice. “He’s got a sweetheart already.”

“A sweet—what?”

His brother shrugged. “You know . . . a girl. Pretty with black hair and eyes. He carries her picture with him everywhere.” Kakarot said with certainty.

Raditz raised a brow. “I have neither seen nor smelt a female on him.”

“She’s not around anymore, but I don't think he ever got over her.”

If the female was no longer in the picture, then he cared little about some photo carried around. “Well, then perhaps I can help him . . . move on.”

Kakarot was about to respond when Gohan spoke up. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing, Gohan," Kakarot said quickly. "Don’t worry about it. You had some questions for Raditz, right?”

Like shooting off a rocket, the boy began to speak. “What kind of governmental system do the saiyans have? If they all eat like my dad and Trunks do, how do they grow enough food to feed the population?”

Raditz blinked at the pudgy child looking up at him with eyes that perhaps would have been reminiscent of Bardock at that age. There was an unsaiyan-like intelligence and curiosity there that Raditz wasn’t sure he’d ever seen on a child back on Vegeta-sei.

“Vegeta-sei is a wasteland planet and so our population was always small until we developed space travel. Now we have several agricultural planets that work within the empire to provide food for our people.”

“Whole other planets?” Gohan asked with wide eyes.

He nodded. “As you said. We eat a lot.”

“Dad fights in tournaments to pay for all the food he eats.”

Kakarot scratched the back of his head in a guilty fashion. “That’s about right.”

“I want to fight in tournaments too,” the boy said with a note of finality.

The child’s father hurried to derail that. “I don’t know about that. Fighting in a tournament is a far cry from teaching you a few moves.”

Gohan seemed almost offended. “But I eat a lot! I should fight in a tournament too!”

“You’re a little young to be worrying about that kind of thing, Gohan. One thing at a time, okay?”

Gohan slumped a bit as he nodded and Raditz raised eyebrow. His own brother was telling the child not to participate in a battle—even one as mediocre as was found amongst these humans.

His nephew should have already long since won a tournament against other saiyan children but even without his scouter, he got the feeling at this boy was just as weak as his human parent—perhaps even more so. It was a disappointing turn of events given Trunks’ no doubt staggering power. Perhaps the lavender-haired half-breed was the exception rather than the rule when it came to human-saiyan offspring. It wouldn’t surprise Raditz at all given the history of weak spawn that generally accompanied such matings.

His eyes narrowed as he considered the young boy splashing around the water. Then again, unlike Trunks, this boy had no background in fighting. Trunks’ numerous battles and endless suffering for the majority of his life was carved over his body in a mess of twisted lines and puckered skin.

Kakarot, himself, was fairly unmarked by comparison, and the boy was pristine.

_Perhaps all that was needed was a little push._

“Are you really going to train the brat?” he asked, directing his gaze towards his brother.

The other saiyan tilted his head. “I've always wanted to, but Chichi never let me and now . . . I don’t know . . . He’s . . . He’s not very strong.”

He heard the guilt that tinged his younger brother’s words. Kakarot did not seem to notice most things but it was hard to miss how thoroughly _human_ his son was—how different he was from the rest of them.

Raditz pursed his lips. “You should have started him younger. He would not last a day on our home planet.”

“Well we aren’t there, are we? He’s _fine_ here,” Kakarot said defensively.

He let out a derisive snort. “And that’s enough for you, brother? It’s enough for you to have a son that can not defend himself? I have seen these humans and their little projectile weapons. They are nothing to a saiyan trained for battle, but your boy . . . He has none of that—he has none of the protection that comes from being able to manipulate energy. He is just as vulnerable as these humans to attack.”

His brother grimaced slightly as he eyed his young son. He knew what Kakarot was thinking—that such a thing would never happen—that he would protect Gohan from harm. However, his brother, while more careless than most saiyans, was not stupid. He knew that there would be situations where he wouldn’t be around—especially if Gohan continued on in the vane of his human mother and had greater interactions with humans.

Kakarot stood up from the water, startling Gohan.

“Dad?” the boy asked.

“Get dressed Gohan. I’m going to show you how to control your ki.”

“Alright!” the boy said in excitement before hastily scampering out of the lagoon. Raditz watched them as they put their clothes back on. The boy hopped around the dirt as Kakarot began talking about his own first experiences with ki manipulation.

“You’re baiting him.”

Raditz didn’t jump as Trunks’ voice washed over him—far closer than he should have been. He turned his head and found the half-breed beside him, his blue eyes on Kakarot and his son.

“I’m doing whatever I must to ensure the prosperity of my family bloodline. Kakarot’s decision to breed with humans has either ruined our legacy or ensured it.”

Trunks shook his head. “Gohan isn’t just a family legacy—he’s a person . . . a child.”

“He is the culmination of a thousand years of selective breeding and the youngest child of a very powerful family.”

The half-breed sent him a questioning look. “You told me your father is a third-class.”

Raditz shrugged. “He is, but only because he has always refused to be retested into a higher class. But everyone knows he’s strong—strong enough to defeat every challenger that has dared to cross him.”

“Gohan is here, though. On Earth. He’s not on Vegeta-sei, so it hardly matters.”

He gave Trunks a long look. “That won’t always be the case. You and Kakarot are delusional if you think that King Vegeta will simply allow you to live here in peace. He’ll destroy this planet and everyone on it before allowing two such powerful being to live unsupervised. If Gohan is to survive this, he needs to be strong—strong enough to prove that you are not unique and that this planet has value to the empire.”

Trunks was silent and Raditz wondered what he was thinking—what thoughts and secrets were floating around the half-breed’s mind.

The pair of them continued to watch as Kakarot and Gohan sat facing one another on the ground, their eyes closed and hands stretched before them as they meditated to draw the necessary energy. Kakarot could have done it easily, but he was taking his time, going at Gohan’s pace. Raditz raised a brow when twenty minutes later, the boy finally generated a tiny speck of light within his palms.

He let out a whoop of joy that had Kakarot laughing and Trunks got up from the water then, walking back to shore and towards his clothing.

“Congratulations, Gohan!” the lavender haired warrior said after pulling his trousers back on. He was still wet and the material clung to his backside as he crouched down and examined the tiny ball of golden energy.

“That’s amazing!”

“Thank you, uncle Trunks!”

Raditz rolled his eyes but joined them soon enough. He got dressed as well and let out a small flare of ki that dried his skin and hair.

Gohan’s mouth formed an ‘O’ as he watched that before turning to Kakarot. “Dad, I wanna be able to do that too!”

Kakarot shot him an almost smug look before turning back to his son. “We’ll work on that soon, son.”

The little bit of energy dissipated and while these soft human-like saiyans seemed impressed, Raditz was far from pleased. It was a step in the right direction, but hardly a leap in training. _Infants_ were known to be able to generate ki in such a way to signal that they wanted something.

This was brought into stark reality when Gohan was unable to even get his first form correct. His body was so used to sitting hunched over a desk day after day that standing straight and putting real strength behind his movements seemed almost foreign to him.

The more frustrated Gohan got, the more disgusted, Raditz became.

“Hey, Gohan, you’ve seen me do this a hundred times,” Kakarot said in what he probably thought was encouragement, but that only seemed to worsen Gohan’s mood.

“What if I can’t?” Gohan asked and there were _tears_ in his eyes.

Raditz looked over at Trunks but the half-breed shot him a warning look that said he had better keep his mouth shut. The saiyan let out a huff of irritation.

Kakarot patted the boy on the head. “Of course you can, Gohan. You just need to get more used to it. Why don’t you take a break? Trunks and I will do a . . . a demonstration and we’ll go slow so you can see everything.”

“Okay,” the boy said softly and there was a thread of defeat there that had Raditz rolling his eyes even as Kakarot and Trunks took off into the sky and began trading blows.

Sure enough, their movements were slow—a speed that would be able to be picked up even by humans. The boy let out a little sniffle as he watched them and Raditz cracked a knuckle before walking over towards the boy.

“You are far too old to begin training.”

Gohan looked away from the fight and his glassy dark eyes met Raditz’s. “What? But my dad—”

The saiyan made a dismissive gesture. “Your father doesn’t want to hurt your pitiful human feelings so he’s trying to let you down gently. You see him up there, don’t you? Fighting Trunks? While Trunks is a half-breed just like you, he is far from the disappointment that you apparently are.”

“Hey, that’s not very nice.”

“I’m not a nice person, brat.”

“But I want to fight!” the child said earnestly, his fist clenched.

“You would be useless in battle. Your frail human mother has ruined you. You think too much and you’ve lost the instinct—the emotion for combat.”

Gohan looked up, eyes wide. “Emotion?”

Raditz crossed his arms. “Saiyans have a limited ability to experience most emotions, but there are a select few will always drive us to greater heights of strength—our pride in our power and our fury at anyone stronger than us. You have neither of these.”

“Trunks doesn’t either—”

“Oh but he does. Do you see the way his lust for battle has gripped him as he fights your father. He holds himself back to give your father an edge, but he will never allow Kakarot to surpass him.”

“My dad isn’t angry.”

He would concede that. “Perhaps not, but his need for violence and bloodshed will never be fulfilled—not for long anyway. You don’t have what it takes, boy.”

“I’m not just some kid and I’m not weak!” his nephew spat out with a glare.

“Oh but you are. When the other saiyans come, your father and Trunks will be spared because of their power. They will be taken back to Vegeta-sei in chains and forced to serve the royal family, but you . . . you and your mother will put to death.”

The boy’s eyes were wide with horror. “Wh . . . what?”

This was going to be far easier than he’d expected. Gohan clearly already had more than a few insecurities about his inability to mimic even the most rudimentary of his father’s skills.

“You are a filthy half-breed—a weak one at that. You are of no use to the Saiyan Empire, but you can be sure that you and your weakling mother will be made an example of. They won't be quick when they kill her, you know. They will draw it out—record her suffering so that everyone in the empire may see the consequences of breeding with lesser species. You will be made to watch before they finally put you out of your misery.”

The boy was panting as fury overtook him. Trunks and Kakarot stopped fighting and looked down at them in shock.

“What’s going on?” Kakarot called.

Raditz kept his eyes on the boy as his lips pulled into a cruel smirk. “Simply filling in your brat here about his future.”

“You—you monster!” Gohan yelled. “You’re all a bunch of monsters!”

The boy launched himself at Raditz, his fist flying towards the saiyan’s face. He hastily blocked it lest his cheekbone shatter.

He let out a laugh as the boy swung at him again and he ducked out of the way a few times before returning a blow himself. It hit true and Gohan was flung back, but apparently he still had the wherewithal to fire a small ki blast. It caught Raditz off guard and singed the fabric on his shoulder as it grazed him.

It didn’t hurt, but it was powerful enough to vaporize the tree that he’d been standing in front off.

Gohan hit the ground hard and Raditz wished he’d had his scouter. The others had the ability to sense ki and he would get Kakarot to teach him that as soon as he could.

He approached Gohan just as the Kakarot and Trunks landed.

“What the hell is going on?” Trunks asked, but Raditz was unable to answer as the child once more came at him, a small scream of fury ripped from his chest.

Raditz caught the punch with a smug smile, his eyes meeting Gohan's. Tears no longer softened his gaze and his brows were furrowed together in total fury.

“There it is . . . this is what is required of you. Remember this feeling—this anger . . . draw upon it and you’ll become strong.”

“What?” Gohan asked in confusion, but Raditz cut him off as he swung a punch of his own and the boy was once more flung into the ground.

“Oh my god—Gohan!” Kakarat yelled as he ran towards his son.

“He’s fine!” Raditz said dismissively as his brother lifted his son out of the mini crater. There was a bump on the boy’s head but that would heal within a few hours—hardly worth the fuss Kakarot was stirring up.

Trunks looked the child over before saying the same. “He’ll be fine, Goku. We’ve all had our knocks.”

Kakarot grimace before passing the boy to the other half-breed. He approached Raditz and while he could feel his brother's anger, he stood his ground.

“What did you say to him?” Kakarot hissed out.

“I merely filled him in on what happens to half-breeds and their families—at least what used to happen." His gaze slid to Trunks. "The king stopped the practice twenty two years ago.”

“He’s—he’s _seven years old_ ,”  Kakarot said as if that should have made a difference.

Raditz was entirely nonplussed. “Yes. Far too old to be sitting there sniveling about not being able to throw a damn punch. You were too soft on him, Kakarot, and he gained nothing from your instruction. He would have lived the rest of his life no different from these weak little humans. I unlocked his power.”

“You fucking traumatized him.”

The saiyan shrugged. “Children need a little trauma so they know the way the world—the _universe—_ works. You can not shelter him on this backwater mud ball forever.”

“Oh—it was for his protection, was it?” Kakarot asked dubiously.

He snorted. “You may not believe me, but yes—yes it was for his benefit. I do not wish to see your offspring put down for his weakness. He will prove that human-saiyan half-breeds should be allowed to live. He will be able to protect himself if you aren’t there to do it for him.”

“You didn’t have to do it like that, though.”

Raditz glared at his brother. “ _Yes I did._ Your child may be half human but he clearly inherited a great many traits from our people. What I just did—it is a very common technique used to draw out dormant power. It worked better than I had even hoped. Your soft-touch methods will not work and he needs to be pushed.”

Kakarot shook his head with a sigh before going back to his son. He once more took Gohan from Trunks and held his son to his chest. It was clear that Kakarot cared about the child—more so than many saiyan parents did for their offspring, but it was also so familiar to Raditz that it caused a lump to form in his throat and he had to look away as Kakarot took off into the air and headed back to his home.

He wondered if Kakarot’s human mate would allow the boy the train again, but immediately dismissed the thought. Kakarot was angry at him for his methods, but not about the results . . . or his reasoning.

They would both be back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should say that yes, Raditz is way stronger than he was in the original story, however there is a reason for it. It’s addressed in like chapter 37, so we’re a ways off from it, but there is a reason.


	8. Chapter 8

####  **_Earth, Present_ **

_ How many weeks has it been? _   Raditz wondered, since he’d been stranded here . . .

Trunks was around, but the half-breed was guarded—interacting with Raditz as little as he could. He was surprised that, for the most part, he was left to his own devices. Which, out in the middle of nowhere, there was little to do and he’d have died of boredom if Kakarot didn’t stop by often.

“Hey bro!” Kakarot called and while he welcomed the distraction, the Earth colloquialisms still did not sit well with him.

“Kakarot,” Raditz said in acknowledgment.

Just as Kakarot landed, Trunks exited his home, looking towards the pair. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said before taking off.

The saiyan watched as his host flew high into the sky before disappearing into the distance. This wasn’t the first time that Trunks had disappeared. At least once a week, the lavender-haired warrior would slip away—usually when Kakarot was around to ‘watch’ him, and fly off to parts unknown.

And without his scouter, Raditz couldn't track him either.

He turned to his brother. “Where is he going?”

Kakarot blinked and shrugged. “Kami’s lookout. He goes there to train.”

“Why can he not train here?”

Kakarot was quiet, which meant he was choosing his words carefully before speaking for once.

“Kami is teaching him new moves,” Kakarot said after a moment.

_ A lie _ . . . Kakarot was  _ lying. _

Raditz looked back towards the sky. The scouter’s reading of five when it had detected Trunks was laughable. He was somehow suppressing his power level to an insane degree. One needed to only  _ look _ at Trunks to know that the young man possessed a monstrous power, but he’d yet to even see the half-breed breathing heavily, much less exposing his true strength.

He turned back towards Kakarot. “Teach me to suppress my power,” he said.

Kakarot blinked stupidly for a moment before tilting his head in consideration. “I don’t know . . .”

“Teach me, you insolent whelp!” he barked out and Kakarot instantly held his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright! Fine!” he said with a sheepish smile. “But you kinda need to know how to sense power levels first.”

“Sense . . . You’re telling me you can tell what my power level is without a scouter?”

“Well, sure. That’s how we found you guys so fast, you know?”

No, he  _ hadn’t _ known, but it explained a lot. His fists clenched. This planet may be full of weaklings but they clearly made up for it in terms of advanced tech and now ki-techniques.

“How long have you known Trunks?” he asked with what he hoped was a flippant tone.

His brother blinked several times as he thought over the answer. “Um . . . about eight years now.”

Raditz could not help rising a skeptical brow. “He’s from this planet but you’ve only known him eight years?”

Kakarot seemed to realize that he’d been caught admitting to something he shouldn’t have. “Well, you know, he’s not really the kind of guy that gets out much. I mean, he lives all the way out here alone—he always has.”

The saiyan had noticed the loner-like attitude of Trunks, but he’d thought that was just the way he was with Raditz around. Perhaps that was simply how he was anyway.

He shook his head. “Teach me about these ki techniques.”

Kakarot nodded hesitantly.

It was a few hours later as he was getting the hang of focusing on the ki signatures of the earthlings scattered about the planet that he felt it.

A burst of unimaginable power before it vanished again—lost in the weak sea of ki that flowed over the planet.

“What . . . what was that?” he breathed out, his eyes opening.

Kakarot looked away, unsure.

Raditz’s eyes narrowed. “It was Trunks, wasn’t it? That power belongs to the half-breed!”

His brother hurried to try and pacify him. “You really shouldn’t call him that. He’s not half of anything. He—”

Raditz poked him hard in the chest. “I don’t give a shit about your touchy-feely Earth crap, Kakarot. Your enemies will never be kind to you!”

The younger saiyan’s head tilted in confusion. “But you’re not my enemy. You’re my brother.”

This brought Raditz up short and he just stared at Kakarot for a moment before looking away. His brother reminded him far too much of their father.

As if reading his thoughts Kakarot spoke again. “You sometimes get that look on your face.”

“What look?” he asked snippily.

“Like you’re remembering something.”

Raditz took in a breath before looking back up to meet his brother’s dark eyes. “You remind me quite a bit of our father.”

Kakarot’s face seemed to lose all expression as his mind blanked out at the concept of a father. “Father?” he asked a moment of stunned silence. “He’s—he still around?”

Raditz snorted. “The old man won’t be kicking the bucket anytime soon—not with the company he keeps.”

The younger saiyan leaned in. “What’s he like? Is he strong?”

He snorted. “I knew you were my brother the moment I saw you. You are his very image—almost identical, but he’s . . . he’s different from most saiyans.”

“What do you mean?” Kakarot asked, his tone somewhat crestfallen.

Raditz grimaced. “His squad was on a purge decades ago, and they were ambushed by Frieza’s men. Only he survived. He’s had little interest in fighting ever since.”

Raditz had heard all manner of snide things said about Bardock over the years. The older saiyan still trained, but he did so privately and never sparred with anyone. These days, most saiyans simply avoided the scientist, but that hadn’t always been the case. No matter that Bardock tried to keep his affair with the king private, the king seemed disinclined to do the same . . . so, of course everyone knew.

Raditz remembered the way rumors had swirled around Bardock like buzzards around a festering corpse. He remembered the questions he’d receive from people looking to get one up on the king’s lover—looking for weaknesses to exploit the figurehead of the king’s new government.

Occasionally someone would challenge the third-class, but that had stopped long ago after Bardock defeated one of the king’s ex-lovers. Raditz remembered watching his father take the lady noble apart. He’d watched when her brother had entered the fight and his jaw had been hanging open when Bardock had nearly killed them both with a massive blast that had shaken the entire complex.

No had challenged him since. The entire planet expected Bardock to re-test and join the elite class, but he hadn’t. He’d returned to his labs and his job as though nothing had happened.

“He doesn’t like to fight? Well that’s a bummer,” Kakarot said and Raditz rolled his eyes.

He was about to respond when his host came to land beside them.

The half-breed looked between them. “What are you two doing?”

“Kakarot here has been teaching me how to sense ki signatures,” Raditz said with a smirk.

Trunks’ expression flattened. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, it was quite the informative lesson.”

Kakarot let out a nervous laugh before standing up. “I gotta head out, Trunks.”

The half-breed didn’t look away from Raditz. “See you around, Goku.”

His brother gave them one last look before he lifted off and flew away.

Raditz stood as well, looking down at the younger man, his expression curious. “Don’t you want to ask what I could sense?”

“No, not really,” Trunks said and turned to leave, but Raditz launched himself forward, pushing the lavender-haired warrior until he hit the wall of the house. The saiyan leaned in feeling the heat of Trunks’ back against his chest. He scented the half-breed, noting the tinge of strawberry from the shampoo Bulma had sent along with them. 

But more prevalent was the scent of  _ saiyan. _

“What are you doing?” Trunks asked, voice irritatingly flat as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He was entirely unthreatened by Raditz and it stung the saiyan elite’s pride more than he’d thought it would, but it also . . . it also made him all the more desirable.

Raditz allowed one of his hands to slide around the other man’s trim waist. “You know, at first I believed that you and Kakarot were paired, but I realized quickly that that’s not the case. Kakarot tells me that you live out here alone—that you have for years, and smelling you now . . . I believe him.”

He reached up and rubbed his fingers against his own neck. They came away lightly coated in a thin oily sheen that could have been mistaken for simple sweat but for the way Trunks suddenly started shuddering against him. 

Raditz smiled. The half-breed clearly had never been exposed to another saiyan under these circumstances. If he had, he’d know that saiyan pheromones could affect even the sanest of minds.

He abruptly turned the other man around and leaned in. Trunks was looking up at him with those wide blue eyes—so unsaiyan-like and yet so familiar all the same. He moved in closer, leg coming between Trunks’ causing the half-breed’s breathing to hitch.

“Saiyans are a passionate race,” he said, moving his face in close. “It’s not normal for us to go very long without . . . releasing those passions.”

Just as his lips were about to touch Trunks, he was suddenly pushed away. His back hit the ground hard and his head cracked on a stray stone. It didn’t hurt him, of course, but it took him a second to get his bearings and look back up at Trunks. The lavender-haired warrior was panting slightly while still leaning on the building.

And he was glaring at Raditz.

He hadn’t even really powered up, but now Raditz could  _ feel _ him. He knew he was leering at the other man—silently gloating at having tricked the half-breed while appreciating the flush that stained Trunks’ cheeks.

“Perhaps I should just  _ kill _ you and be done with it,” Trunks hissed out angrily.

The smirk immediately dropped from Raditz’s face. There was an undertone of violence and malice there that once again reminded Raditz of someone—someone back on Vegeta-sei.

_ Who are you? _ he wondered.  _ Whose family . . . whose  _ House _ do you belong to? _

Because it was becoming fairly obvious that this boy’s lineage was noble. Power like this— _ control _ like this just didn’t pop up out of nowhere. And his face . . . Raditz still could not place the features, but he knew he recognized them from somewhere.

There was entirely too much at stake, here. There were rumors of what lengths the king had gone to in his quest to eliminate possible threats to the throne—powerful children that disappeared from their incubators before even being birthed. If a child from one of the noble houses was proven to be the savior—the one to beat Frieza, then the king would . . . 

He looked up at Trunks. “Do you really not wish to go back to our home?”

The question seemed to take the half-breed aback. “This  _ is _ my home.”

Raditz got up, his eyes lingering on the young man once more. “I don’t want to stay here forever.”

Trunks pushed away from the house. “Then you shouldn’t have come,” he said as he began to walk away.

Raditz watched his retreating back for a few seconds before calling out. “There will be others, you know. They’ll come soon enough. The king, he . . .”

Trunks paused, but didn’t turn back around. “What about the king?” he asked after a moment.

“King Vegeta has spent the last twenty five years looking for you,” he said seriously.

The half-breed whirled around, his expression agitated. “I told you! I’m not this savior—”

Raditz cut him off. “It doesn’t matter if you are or aren’t. You fit the description and that’s enough.”

Trunks shook his head as he let out a derisive snort. “Why does it matter?”

“The king is obsessed with power—obsessed with making sure his own bloodline reigns supreme for a thousand more years. He thinks the savior is the key to that, so . . . I’m going to give you a piece of advice.”

“And what’s that?”

Raditz walked forward until they were close together once more. He lowered his voice as though somehow if he whispered his words then it wasn’t such a betrayal of his king. “When the next squad comes—and they will . . . don’t confront them as you did me. Let them escape after only seeing Kakarot. Perhaps then the king will turn his attention elsewhere.”

Trunks narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “That advice seems rather counter-intuitive for someone who wants to go back to Vegeta-sei.”

Raditz let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Do not mistake me—The first chance I get, I’m getting off this backwater mud ball planet, but even with your power, Vegeta-sei would be dangerous for you.”

The younger man shrugged. “I don’t plan to go to Vegeta-sei, but I can’t just send Goku to take care of the saiyans. He’s too soft on them if I’m not there.”

Raditz tilted head consideringly. “You really would have killed me, even after I surrendered . . . wouldn’t you.”

Trunks didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“You’re a stone cold son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

The half-breed’s eyes were hard. “I don’t take unnecessary chances and I  _ don’t _ wait for enemies to get stronger.”

Raditz considered the other saiyan. There was something behind those words—a history that had taught Trunks the foolishness of prolonging a fight. It wasn’t a concept that many saiyans ever really learned. The lust for battle overrode good judgment time and again. 

But then . . . those words were in direct opposition to the fact that Frieza  _ still lived. _ The savior had allowed the arcosian to escape, while Trunks would have assuredly killed him if he’d been given the chance.

Nothing was adding up.

Raditz hated that this half-breed was perhaps the key to everything but also perhaps nothing. Some many things fit and yet so many pieces could not be forced into the correct shape. And what would happen if Trunks truly was the savior? Would the king kill him? Could such a thing even be done?

Trunks apparently wasn’t waiting for an answer because he was already turning away once more, but Raditz was far from done with him. The dark haired saiyan reached out and snagged the other man’s arm, halting his movements.

“I was serious before.”

Trunks looked back at him, one brow raised. “About what?”

“You’ve been sitting here alone in these woods for eight years. Kakarot has chosen to take a mate and procreate with the natives. You are also an example that such unions are possible. Why have you chosen solitude?”

The other man sighed. “Look man, I don’t know where you’re going with this—”

His head tilted. “You know exactly where I’m going with this. I’ve hardly made a secret of my desire for you—even someone as brain-dead as Kakarot has noticed.”

Trunks blinked in confusion at him. “W—What?”

Raditz crossed his arms. “Perhaps earthling courtship requires several steps or innuendo, but saiyans are more direct. I want to fuck you.”

The younger man’s eyes were wide and slightly horrified. Raditz watched him carefully, pushing down the flash of anxiety at the expression. Was he really so undesirable? No, back on Vegeta-sei, he’d had his pick of lovers, his power and physique making him quite popular even after all that business with Renkon.

“I can guarantee that you will enjoy it, Trunks,” he said confidently. “I’m  _ very _ good.”

His host’s jaw was hanging open in shock and Raditz was about to say something else when Trunks finally spoke up.

“I—I’m not . . .” he began before he finally seemed to shake off whatever it was that was buzzing around his mind. “I’m not gay!” he finally barked out.

“Gay?” Raditz asked, unsure of the exact meaning of the word. 

The half-breed swallowed. “I don’t want to have sex with other men!”

Raditz blinked in confusion. “Why not?”

The question seemed to bring Trunks up short and he watched as the younger man struggled to come up with something—anything to say.

“Wh . . . _ Why not?” _ Trunks echoed, sounding lost.

The dark-haired saiyan nodded. “Yes. ‘Why not?’ Was your first lover not good? Whoever he was, he probably didn’t know his prick from his—”

Trunks shook his head frantically. “No! No! I’ve never had sex with  _ any _ guys— _ ever!” _

Raditz blinked. Such celibacy was all but unheard of back on Vegeta-sei—especially for someone of Trunks’ age.

“Then what exactly is the problem?” he asked impatiently. “If you’ve not experienced it, how do you know that you won’t enjoy it and even prefer it?”

Trunks let out an irritated sound. “I just don’t want to, okay? I’m not into men.”

Raditz leaned forward again, sniffing at Trunks. “You have the proper glands to be receptive to male pheromones,” he said as he reached up and ran a finger down Trunks’ neck, causing the other man to shiver. “Even female saiyans have a hard time taking the full force of a male saiyan on the rut,” he said softly, being careful to keep his tone even and unthreatening. “Much less these soft humans you’ve been living amongst. But I’d be more than happy to show you what I mean.”

Something seemed to shift behind Trunks’ blue eyes. The pheromones, the brush of another’s fingers—Raditz wasn’t sure, but suddenly the half-breed sighed, his defensive manner dropping.

“I’m not having sex with you,” Trunks whispered.

Raditz snorted before he grabbed the half-breed’s hand and dragged him back inside the capsule house. 

“Then I suppose I’ll have to think of something else,” he said before pushing Trunks down onto the sofa. He pulled his shirt over his head and Trunks did the same. There was a fear there that Raditz had never experienced in any of his lovers. Sex was a casual occurrence on Vegeta-sei, especially among the lower classes, but it seemed that many cultures here on earth equated the act with a sort of permanence in a relationship.

He got Trunks to lean back so his head was pillowed on the arm-rest and he knelt above the lavender-haired warrior. The half-breed really was so very ugly—not at all like anyone Raditz had ever engaged. While he knew of all manner of deviants that preferred the company of other sentients, he’d have never even given Trunks a second look on Vegeta-sei.

But others would have . . .

Raditz’ eyes narrowed at his own train of thought. A thread of jealousy circled those thoughts, but he didn’t understand why. He leaned in to kiss Trunks but the other man turned away. 

“Not that,” he whispered.

Ah, so Trunks valued intimacy as something that should be a part of a relationship as well. Most saiyans didn’t care one way or another, but Raditz found himself thankful for that. It meant that Trunks was unlikely to seek out other lovers.

The saiyan didn’t hesitate to move his mouth to Trunks’ neck, running his tongue over the sensitive skin there, though being careful not to nip too hard and break the skin. The young man moaned, his hands finally moving from being clenched by his sides to instead digging into Raditz’s forearms.

The reactions of the half-breed were interesting. This young man was more than thirty years old—still young by saiyan standards, but old enough to have gone on several purging missions already—but it didn’t appear that he’d ever actually had sex—with anyone.

He seemed so . . . unsure of the pleasure, as if it was an entirely new experience. Raditz smirked and moved down further, taking a pebbled nipple into his mouth. Trunks gasped, his eyes closed and mouth open in shock.

“Saiyans are sensitive creatures,” he whispered, as his hand reached down under Trunks’ hips. His mouth went back to working on the half-breed’s nipple, his fingers slipping past the waistband of his new lover’s trousers.

Trunks flinched, but Raditz would keep his word. He wouldn’t fuck Trunks tonight, but there was something else he wanted . . .

He pressed his thumb into that spot at the base of the young man’s spine and immediately the half-breed’s back arched up, his eyes flying open.

“What are you . . . ah!”

Raditz smiled but didn't answer. He continued to massage the tail spot while working his way down. He managed to get the front of Trunks’ pants open and revealed the hardened mound below.

The underwear was moved aside and Raditz pulled away long enough to get his hand hooked onto every layer of clothing and pull them all down and off in one smooth motion, leaving Trunks bare to his eyes. All that lavender hair was splayed out like an halo around Trunks’ head, matching the crown of curls that surrounded the base of his hard cock. All he needed was a lavender tail and he would be . . .

“Perfect,” he breathed out.

Trunks blinked up at him in confusion but Raditz didn’t let him think on it for long before moving back down. He tucked both of Trunk’s legs over his shoulders and wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed on that spot once more.

“Oh! Oh god!” Trunks whispered as Raditz finally took him into his mouth.

The half breed nearly doubled in half as he sat up, his chest curling around as if trying to get his entire body as close to the epicenter of his pleasure as he could.

“You . . . That’s . . .”

Raditz met his eyes before taking using his free hand to move Trunks’ fingers into his hair. The young man hesitated for only a few seconds before he began moving his hand over the coarse texture of pure saiyan hair.  Trunks never pushed his head down in an attempt to choke him as so many selfish lovers had tried in the past. His touches were gentle and strangely endearing.

He was so focused on watching Trunks that he nearly didn’t notice when those mild fingers finally tightened. Trunks’ entire body jerked as he came He didn’t moan, but instead clenched his teeth, as though afraid of any sound he might make.

Raditz swallowed down the load, his eyes never leaving Trunks before pulling away. He gave the other man’s cock one last lick before tilting his head up. Trunks was panting, looking entirely too vulnerable for someone who was suspected to be more powerful than Frieza.

His eyes dropped to the half-breed’s lips and he moved closer, intent on taking those as well but Trunks backed away.

“I said ‘not that’,” he repeated.

Raditz didn’t push him, but there was a challenge brewing in his mind. He wanted Trunks’ kisses. He wanted the other man to come completely undone by him. As it was, he slumped back down, his hand pillowing his chin just above the half-breed’s pelvis and he made himself comfortable.

“Still ‘not gay’?” he asked.

Trunks flushed, but didn’t push him off. Instead he leaned back against the armrest again. “This . . . this doesn’t make me gay.”

Raditz laughed and the young man turned an even deeper shade of scarlet.

“Don’t overthink it, boy. It’s sex. One can have a preference, of course, but pleasure is pleasure, no matter the source.”

Trunks looked thoughtful. “I suppose, but I’ve never looked at a man and thought about . . . being with him.”

“How many male saiyans are you usually around?” Raditz asked with a snort.

Trunks baulked at the statement before answering. “Just Goku.”

He could not help the roll of his eyes. “Kakarot has marked a mate and been marked in return. His pheromones are practically non-existent now.”

“Marked?”

Raditz pointed to the raised bit of skin at the base of his neck. “Saiyans have pheromone glands here. When we’ve chosen a mate, we bite down on the gland and inject our DNA into our chosen mate, but it only takes if the mate does the same—something to do with cross-contamination of DNA or some such thing.”

“That’s . . . I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

He wasn’t surprised to hear that. “It’s a purely saiyan trait, though one that is somewhat out of fashion these days—unless one is of the nobility or royal line.”

Trunks nodded before biting his lip. “Do . . . should I . . .?”

Raditz snorted before getting up. “You really aren’t ready for that, are you?”

The half-breed looked away and Raditz nodded. “I’m going for a shower,” he said before getting up. He felt Trunks’ eyes on his back as he walked away.

 

* * *

 

Trunks watched the other man go and he suddenly felt a sense of . . . emptiness. Why had he even—even  _ done _ that with Raditz? One second he’d been about to blast the other saiyan into the next dimension, the next, he’d been almost mesmerized by the smooth glide of muscle beneath skin and the feel of someone touching him.

No one ever touched him—not since Mai, and even then . . . he grimaced.

He and Mai were only just beginning to discover their feelings when things had gone to hell. Neither of them had had the time or energy to devote to  _ romance _ while on the run for their very lives. And then after coming here . . . he’d told himself he was grieving for his world and that’s why he kept away from most people, and perhaps that had been true at first, but it had been eight years since he’d lost his timeline—eight years of loneliness.

Perhaps Raditz was simply convenient—the right biology at the right time. The older saiyan had said that sex wasn’t a big deal—that it was a frequent and casual thing between warriors. Maybe that’s all it needed to be for Trunks as well. Besides, it had felt . . . good . . .  _ really _ good. 

He licked his lips. Next time, he’d—he’d try to reciprocate. Maybe not with his mouth—that just seemed like a bit too much too fast, but he could at least use his hands or if the other saiyan’s tail was as sensitive as Trunk’s tail spot, perhaps he could do that as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not be able to get chapters up tomorrow or the day after because of the holiday.


	9. Chapter 9

“Get up.”

Raditz let out a less than agreeable sound before turning over.

He felt the blanket being tugged on followed by Trunk’s disgusted voice. “Dammit, Raditz. Goku will be here in ten minutes!”

“So?” Raditz grumped out.

“So, you’re naked in my goddamn bed and you need to get up before he gets here!”

Raditz mentally rolled his eyes as he turned back over to face his lavender-haired lover—almost lover. They’d been going at it like rabbits for a couple of weeks now . . . well, they’d been going as far as Trunks would allow. Raditz had long since figured out that he needed to take things slow with the half-breed or the other man would scuttle off. While Raditz did not believe for a second that Trunks had just been hunkered down the woods of this planet his entire life, he’d clearly never had a steady source of sex, either. The saiyan found himself  _ teaching _ Trunks how to please another person . . . and how to take pleasure in return.

Raditz forced one sleepy eye open. “What the fuck does it matter? He can probably smell me all over you, anyway.”

Trunks shook his head. “I just took a shower so he won’t be smelling  _ anything _ on me.”

At this Raditz raised a brow as he gazed at the half-breed. “You really wish to keep this a secret from Kakarot,” he said, hating the way accusation and—and hurt seemed to bleed into his words.

The half-breed crossed his arms. “I think it’s none of his or anyone else’s business. I don’t need to be—be flaunting this.”

“Exactly how long do you plan to keep us a secret?”

Trunks grimaced. “There’s no us. We’re scratching a mutual itch and that’s it. Casual, remember?”

Raditz shook his head but said nothing as he got up and walked out of the room. 

Trunks seemed to realize that he’d said something wrong when he reached out. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

The saiyan waved him off. “Save it. I’m going to hit the shower while you pretend like everything is just the way you wish it was with Kakarot.”

“Raditz!” Trunks called, but the saiyan ignored him and stepped into the second bedroom that hadn’t been used in a while. He shut the door behind him with a roll of his eyes. He really could not understand what the problem was—with either of them. Raditz hadn’t allowed himself to become attached to anyone in years. 

Not since he’d left Renkon. 

While Renkon and Trunks were nothing alike, it seemed as though Raditz hadn’t fully learned his lesson and he was making the same damn mistakes again. 

He sighed as turned the shower on and the bathroom bathroom began to fill with steam. He felt Kakarot arriving just as he stepped under the water and closed his eyes against the onslaught of the rushing water. 

He reached up and fingered his shortened locks. Bulma Briefs had come at him with scissors a few days ago and shaped the spikes into something a bit more purposeful rather than the jagged line of hair that hung just past his shoulders. 

He began lathering soap into his hair and grimaced as the process only took a few minutes to finish. It used to take him nearly an hour to meticulously wash and condition his long hair, but now he was done in mere five minutes.

The saiyan stepped back out of the shower far sooner than he’d have liked and dressed at a steady pace. It would not do to look as though he was avoiding his host when his brother was about. When he eventually exited the bedroom and then the house, he spotted Kakarot and Trunks talking under a tree.

Raditz eyed them for a moment before snorting derisively and taking off into the air. He headed for the vast canyon field closeby. Mists had rolled in and as he landed on the tallest stone spire, he could only see the tops of a few others in the distance. So high up, there was nothing but birds and the wind.

Being alone with his thoughts was both a blessing and curse. What the fuck did he think he was doing with this shit with Trunks, anyway? Saiyans didn’t bond with others, much less with half-breeds. 

He dropped down onto the sparse foliage and sat with his legs dangling over the side.

As he contemplated exactly how long he’d sit there sulking, he heard someone land behind him and rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Kakarot?”

“I want to know what’s going on with you and Trunks,” his brother said.

Raditz shrugged. “Ask the half-breed.”

Kakarot dropped down beside him. “He won’t tell me anything.”

He couldn’t help the derisive snort that escaped him. “Then that should be all the answer you need.”

The younger man was silent for a moment before speaking again. “Maybe you should come stay with me—”

“Absolutely not!” Raditz said quickly. “I’m not staying with you and your mate!”

Kakarot tried to reason with him. “Well you can’t live by yourself and Trunks—”

He looked up towards the sky, silently asking the great ancestor for guidance when dealing with idiot brothers. “There is nothing wrong, Kakarot. We had a . . .” Raditz trailed off searching for the right word. “A disagreement.”

His brother blinked in stunned confusion. “Y'all had a fight? Why didn’t you just . . . ya know . . . fight?”

Raditz let out a bark of a laugh. “It’s not that kind of fight, you idiot!”

Kakarot leaned back. “Oh . . . you mean the kind of fight like when Chichi is mad at me.”

The saiyan flinched. “The half-breed  _ isn’t _ my mate!”

“I never said he was,” Kakarot said with a thoughtful look before understanding dawned on him. “I get it. You  _ want _ to be his mate.”

“Che,” Raditz said in as much of a non-answer as he could muster. Kakarot didn’t seem particularly disturbed or mad about it, but he did seem confused.

“Well, you’re probably going to have some problems though. I told you before. Trunks like girls.”

Raditz raised a brow. “Trust me, he’s fine with men too.”

His brother’s mouth formed an ‘O’ of understanding. “Well, I mean, you and Trunks . . . I guess that’s okay. He really does need someone.”

The saiyan let himself fall back onto the ground, simply tired of the situation. “He’s not ready,” he said after a moment. “He’s not ready for anyone, let alone someone he would have killed only a couple of months ago.”

Kakarot looked down at him for a long moment and Raditz was forced to look away. Kakarot looked far too much like their father.

“So you’re serious about him?” his brother asked softly.

Raditz felt his lip curl in disgust. “How the hell should I know? Saiyans aren’t like these soft humans you love so much. We don’t experience the same spectrum of emotions.”

Kakarot blinked. “We . . . We don’t? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Raditz said with a roll of his eyes that he hoped covered the anxiety that was rapidly creeping up on him. Their family was . . .  different from other saiyans, but Raditz wouldn’t be the one to explain it to his younger brother. The physical defect wasn’t something they spoke of, and the one time he had . . .

Raditz shook his head. He’d leave that explanation to their father.

“Why are you upset, then?”

“I’m not upset. I’m irritated—there’s a difference.”

Kakarot shrugged. “Well, Trunks is kind of a complicated guy. Best to give him his space, ya know?”

“Why do you think I came out here? The last thing I need is to piss him off.”

“Well, he wouldn’t just kill you because of that.”

Raditz wasn’t so sure. Kakarot was a moron, but he had hit the nail on the head when he’d called Trunks ‘complicated’. The half-breed was fully capable of killing him and anyone else he perceived to be a threat. And if he was the savior . . . a super saiyan . . . Raditz would be little more than an insect beneath his boot.

And Kakarot . . .

Raditz looked at his younger brother and his mind moved back to that day when Kakarot had wiped out his squad. He had cared little for the others and hadn’t mourned their passing—it wasn’t the saiyan way—but he’d borne witness to a power that shouldn’t belong to anyone who wasn’t of noble blood.

And even then . . . the prince himself would be hard pressed to take on an entire squad of saiyan elites. 

Raditz was silent as he contemplated exactly what was going on with his brother and with Trunks. If the half-breed was a descendent of a noble, his power would make sense, but while both Raditz and Kakarot shared a sire, they would have had different dams.

But the genetics office would never have approved anyone but another third class donor for Bardock. Perhaps there was a mix up. Raditz looked at his brother. When someone came for him—for Trunks . . . they would take Kakarot as well. Kakarot, whose power would rival the nobles and . . . and even the royal house.

He swallowed. Others had disappeared for far less than the crime of daring to reach so far above one’s station. Raditz had always been careful back on Vegeta-sei to keep his power level and reputation well under control, but Kakarot had grown up with the freedom to do and be anything he pleased.

“Just how powerful are you?” he asked.

His brother blinked in confusion. “I mean . . . I’m probably average.”

He shook his head. “You’re not. You wiped out an elite squad without breaking a sweat.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Raditz grimaced. “Power draws enemies.”

“Yeah, Trunks says the same thing, but so far, no one has been able to beat me, let alone him.”

That was as much confirmation as Raditz was likely to get that however strong Kakarot was, Trunks was even more powerful. 

* * *

Raditz landed outside the capsule house and the sun was already setting. He let out the breath he’d been holding when nothing happened. He made his way inside and immediately spotted Trunks in the kitchen. The half-breed did all the cooking for them and Raditz had the responsibility of doing their laundry.

Him . . . a saiyan elite . . . doing laundry. He hoped no one on Vegeta-sei ever found out.

Trunks was facing away from him and hadn’t said anything despite knowing that Raditz had entered. The dark haired saiyan grimaced before making his way over and standing behind the other man.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked.

Trunks paused his chopping. “We . . . we both know what this is.”

Raditz felt the skin beneath his eye twitch. “I know what you’re trying to stop it from becoming.”

The half-breed whirled around. “Because it can’t be that. You want to leave and I—”

He stepped closer. _ “Of course _ I want to leave. Vegeta-sei is my home, but . . .”

“But what?” Trunks asked.

The saiyan licked his suddenly dry lips. “I told you before that you should hide from the next squad.”

Trunks nodded. “I remember.”

He swallowed heavily. “Even if you won’t show me, I know you must be powerful—maybe even a super saiyan, but it’s not just you, is it?”

The half-breed blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Kakarot is the same, isn’t he? He’s almost as strong as you.”

Trunks hesitated for a few seconds before nodding. “Yes, he is.”

Raditz nodded slowly in response. He’d expected the answer, but . . . he wasn’t happy bout it. “I don’t . . . I don’t want my brother to die.”

The lavender-haired warrior met his eyes in confusion. “What? What are you talking about?”

“You’re both so strong and you’ve been protected on this planet all these years, but that will end soon. They’ll come and when the king finds out that there are saiyans here—saiyans with no royal blood—he’ll destroy you.”

Trunks seemed taken aback by the statement. “Royal blood? That matters?”

“Of course it matters!” he said, agitation clear in his voice. “The king won’t tolerate threats to the throne.”

“Neither Goku nor I are threats—” Trunks began.

Raditz quickly interrupted. “Your very existence is a threat and if something happens to you . . .”

Trunks sighed. “Nothing will happen to Goku. He can take care of himself.”

“It’s not just him, though. Even if you swear until you’re blue in the face that you aren’t the savior . . . you may as well be, and if he thinks that—if he thinks you’re the savior . . . I don’t know what he’ll do to you.”

The half-breed reached out and took his hand, fingers running over the saiyan’s palm. “Nothing will happen to me, either. Remember what you said before . . . I’ll—I’ll stay out of it. Goku can take care of them.”

Raditz looked up. “You promise?”

“Yeah.”

The saiyan sagged a bit but froze as Trunks’ arms came around him in an embrace. Such things just weren’t done on Vegeta-sei outside an invitation to fornicate. But Trunks wasn’t doing that, he was just . . . holding him.

Raditz reached up and wrapped his arms about the other man, holding him tightly.

“You’re not like other saiyans, are you?” Trunks asked softly, but it wasn’t an accusation as it would be from any other of their kind. It was a plea.

He shook his head shallowly as they pulled back to look at one another. He leaned in for a kiss, but Trunks turned his head to the side.

“Not that,” he said and Raditz hated how much he  _ hated  _ that.

He’d never sought something as intimate as a kiss from anyone—not for a long time—and definitely not from the same person over and over again.

“Whatever you’re waiting for . . . can it not be me?” he asked softly.

The half-breed sighed. “I don’t know.”

Raditz's eyes traced over the refined features of the lavender-haired saiyan. He imagined being back on Vegeta-sei with Trunks, the two of them working together—perhaps even for the palace. The king may not kill the savior, but he would keep him close to ensure loyalty to the throne. Trunks would make an excellent military officer, and the pair of them could live out their lives serving the royal house, fighting and sparring each day . . . 

He wanted that, he realized. He wanted to see this ugly half-breed every day for the rest of his life. It was an odd feeling—one he’d not even experienced when he’d been with Renkon, but Trunks was . . . Trunks was like him.

  
  


####  **_Vegeta-sei_ **

The king looked towards the pod, his fingers resting on the glass. He was just making the gossip about he and Bardock worse with his actions, but he didn’t care. The pod was carefully set up in the closest set of empty chambers to his own. 

Bardock had been asleep for more than a month—kept in stasis inside his pod on Vegeta’s own orders. His lover would be angry when he awoke and realized how much time had passed, but the king didn’t care. If he let Bardock out, the other man would slip away and try to escape to the dead-zone planet again.

“You do not make things easy for me, do you?” he murmured as he looked through the red-tinted glass. There was no answer of course, but seeing Bardock and  _ knowing _ that he was unable to leave was enough . . . for now.

The king turned away and left the room, the doors shutting and locking behind him. It would be another two months before the prince would arrive at Earth and report back on Raditz’s survival.

Because Bardock’s eldest son  _ had _ to be alive. He was smart—smarter than the average saiyan and cunning enough to wriggle his way out of many a situation in the past. A third-class who’d become an elite and then an officer of high rank. An unheard of climb considering where he’d started, but then the same could be said about Bardock as well.

Vegeta’s steps echoed through the halls along with all the secretaries that seemingly materialized from the shadows. He entered the outer chamber that lead to his study and a pad was placed into his hand when he held his fingers outstretched.

One of them spoke up. “The weurle are sending teams into this galaxy and asking to stop on Vegeta-sei to refuel.”

“Again?” he asked but the secretary shrugged. Ever since the savior had revealed himself twenty five years ago, the God-King had never stopped looking for him. The king had been suspicious of the searches for years before realizing that the God-King wasn’t interested in fighting the savior. He was simply a curious—if incredibly powerful and dangerous—creature.

The king had kept careful watch over the movements of the weurle search teams as well in the hopes that they’d lead him to the savior. It was a testament to the half-breed’s tenacity and intelligence that even the weurle ruler of the Andromeda Galaxy had yet to locate him.

“Grant it,” he said absently before moving into his office. He continued looking over the reports from his admirals as well as the intelligence on the war.

Frieza had been growing bolder with every year that passed since the savior’s appearance, but he’d been suspiciously quiet in his attacks the last few weeks. The usual border patrols had been thinned out and Vegeta was growing paranoid the longer it had gone on.

Really, it could only mean one thing.

Frieza was preparing for a massive assault and was gathering his fleet. There was only one place he would go and the saiyan king clenched his fist as he read over the reports. He’d heard rumors that Frieza was covering up certain things—the annihilation of several purging squads off and on over the years as the arcosian fought to keep control of his empire.

Vegeta couldn't be certain that it was the savior, but Frieza seemed to think it was.

But something had obviously changed if the arcosian was now preparing to attack. The king thought of his son so far from the planet and he could only hope that the prince would reach the savior before Frieza enacted his plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, the term ‘weurle’ isn’t a canon word in Dragon Ball. I totally made it up because the character that will show up later didn’t have an official species named that I could find. And if you care about it, it’s pronounced as ‘vweur-lay’.
> 
> And, of course, Andromeda is the name of the galaxy closest to ours. Obviously, there would be different names used for the galaxies by different peoples, but for the sake of simplicity, I decided to stick with Andromeda for that Galaxy and the Milky Way for ours.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 

“We need more money,” Trunks said thoughtfully as he looked over the stack of bills and receipts for that month. He’d had to install a massive extra freezer outside just to house all the meat they went through on a daily basis. 

He’d never given much thought to Chichi’s lifestyle, but no wonder the woman was so adamant about Goku entering those tournaments and earning money. Even with the hunting he and Raditz did, they still went through over a half million zeni worth of food and other products every month.

Raditz looked up from the TV—a relatively new addition to the house after Raditz complained about his boredom in front of Bulma—his chopsticks hung in midair as he was about to bring a healthy pile of ramen to his mouth. 

“You eat a lot more than I expected.”

Raditz raised a brow. “I hope you don’t expect me to apologize when I’m being held here against my will.”

Trunks rolled his eyes. “I’m entering you into a tournament.”

The saiyan blinked in confusion. “What? What tournament?”

He held up a flyer in front of the other man. “Goku is gonna be in a tournament next week and Krillin planned to enter for second place, but he finally found a job as a cop so he can’t enter, anyway.”

Raditz dropped the chipsticks back into the bowl. “What does this have to do with me? The blue human has said more than once that you have plenty of money.”

The half-breed shook his head. “Yeah, but if you’re going to be here for the long haul, you need to have some way to make money. I’m not supporting you forever.”

Raditz moved so that his elbow went across the back of the sofa and his expression became leering. “What? You don’t want to be my rank lover?”

“If that’s another way of saying sugar daddy, then the answer is no,” Trunks said with a withering look. “I asked Bulma to get you some official identity papers. You won’t beat Goku in the tournament, but second place is still plenty of money—enough to keep you in ramen for a year.”

“Who says I won’t beat Kakarot?” Raditz asked, clearly offended.

“Everyone.”

The saiyan glared at him before waving him off. “If you want the money so bad, why don’t you enter?”

Trunks looked away “I don’t like to draw too much attention, so I only enter tournaments every few years. And besides, if he and I are the top two at every tournament, other fighters will lose their motivation.”

Raditz let out a derisive snort. “You don’t fight because you  _ feel bad _ for your competition? You patronize other warriors by not giving them a chance to fight the best because  _ you _ think they aren’t good enough.”

Well when it was said like that, maybe he  _ was _ being a bit condescending. “I’m still not entering, but you should, anyway. It’ll give you a chance to stretch your legs.”

Raditz turned back to the TV. “I will not put myself on display for the entertainment of a bunch of weaklings,” he said before shoving the chopsticks in his mouth.

“I  _ know _ you’re bored being cooped up here.”

The saiyan shrugged disinterestedly. “I’ve found your entertainment box to be a pleasant diversion.”

Trunks gritted his teeth. “You can not sit in the house and watch TV all day!”

Raditz gave him a tooth smile. “If you have any suggestions for other ways to pass the time,” He said amorously. “I’m all ears.”

He rolled his eyes. “We’re not doing  _ that _ all day, either.”

Raditz shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said before turning back to the television.

Trunks sighed. “What do you want?”

Raditz didn’t turn around. “Why would you think I want something?”

“You’re doing this on purpose to drive me crazy,” he said with a grimace. “What do you want?”

The saiyan dropped the chopsticks again and gave him a long look. “I don’t want you to turn away from me when I try to kiss you anymore.”

Trunks took a shuddering breath. “You know that I . . . I’m—I’m not . . .”

Raditz tilted his spiky head. “I know you’re trying to keep something of yourself for what you think will be a real relationship later. You think whatever it is that we’re doing—that it’s temporary, but I’m telling you right now, you’re never going to get rid of me.”

Trunks met the other saiyan’s intense gaze for a few seconds before he had to look away. How had he gotten himself into this? He shared his bed with Goku’s brother—a man whose loyalty would always be in doubt and whom he’d wanted to kill only two months ago. 

“If you win the tournament, I’ll kiss you,” he said at last.

Raditz narrowed his eyes. “That’s hardly a fair bet,” he said.

Trunks raised a brow. “It’s the best you’re gonna get.”

“Fine, but don’t think that I’ll let you back out later.”

  
  


Raditz grimaced as he and Trunks landed outside the tournament grounds. He could hear the dull roar of the crowds of people that had piled into the stadium. There was a faint shifting in the humans around them as they landed and he tilted his head as he realized that they had drawn the attention of nearly everyone around them.

No . . . not them . . .  _ Trunks. _

He looked over at his companion but the half-breed was resolutely ignoring the attention as he began walking towards the fighter entrance. The other humans parted for him, their eyes never leaving the lavender-haired warrior.

“Trunks!” someone called and Raditz looked up to see a blonde male human in sunglasses hurrying forward.

“I didn’t expect to see you this year! Are you signing up?” the man asked.

The half-breed pulled an uncomfortable smile. “No, I’m just here accompanying a friend.”

“Friend?” the man asked as his gaze swung to Raditz.

“This is Son Raditz,” Trunks said. “Son Goku’s brother.”

“Goku’s brother?” The man asked aghast before remembering himself and sticking his hand out. “We’re happy to have you here this year. I’m the Announcer of the World Martial Art Tournament.”

Raditz looked down at the outstretched hand for a few seconds before Trunks elbowed him and he grimaced as he reached out and gently shook the man’s hand as Trunks had shown him.

“It’s . . . good to meet you,” he said, stumbling over the words.

“You too!” the man said enthusiastically. “I assume that we’ll be seeing great things from you if Trunks is with you and you’re Goku’s brother.”

The saiyan tilted his head before looking back at Trunks. The half-breed seemed a bit flushed over the praise.

“I won’t disappoint you,” he said.

The announcer grinned before looking back at Trunks. “Are you sure you won’t enter this year? It’s sure to be an amazing fight!”

Raditz watched Trunks but he also picked up on a few hushed conversation going on around them.

“Man, if all three of them enter, there won’t even be any prize money left for the rest of us. I was really looking forward to getting at least third place.”

“I know. Trunks and Son Goku are bad enough, but now there’s a brother? I don’t know why I bother.”

The half-breed clearly heard the words as well as he rapidly shook his head. “Nope. I uh . . . I got an injury last month sparring so I’m taking it easy.”

_ “You _ got  _ injured?” _ the blonde man asked dubiously.

“Raditz here is a real tough fighter,” Trunks said by way of explanation.

The man looked back at Raditz clearly taking him even more seriously if he was able to ‘injure’ the great fighter, Trunks.

“Well, it’s a shame we won’t get to see you fight, but there’s always next year!”

“Yeah, next year,” Trunks said carelessly.

Raditz raised a brow as the human bid them farewell and walked away.

“You’re quite popular among the humans,” Raditz said looking around. “You live out in the wilderness, but they’re all very well aware of you.”

“I’ve won this tournament several times.”

Raditz reached out and felt the various power levels of the other fighters. There were some in the triple digit, but nothing that couldn’t be dealt with easily.

“Not much of a triumph,” he said dubiously.

Trunks leaned in. “Do not kill or seriously injure any of them. Be gentle, just like we practiced.”

Raditz waved him off. “Whatever you say, but I can’t be blamed for knocking the sense out of a few of them. They're just so . . . weak.”

“They’re human and fragile,” Trunks said seriously.

Raditz shrugged. “That’s why you can only have a saiyan as your lover—or is it boyfriend in the human vernacular?” he said, only raising his voice slightly, but it was enough for Trunks’ eyes to go wide.

“Shut up!” he said, his tone tinged with a frantic quality that Raditz had never heard from the usually stoic half-breed.

He threw his head back and laughed as he walked away. The humans watched him as he made his way to check-in desk. He handed over the identification papers that the blue human woman had given to him and everything went through without issue. He took his contender number and entered the back rooms of the stadium.

He smelled food and where there was food there was—

“Raditz!”

The saiyan looked over sure enough, there was Kakarot stuffing his face with an army’s worth of food. Others were avoiding the other saiyan and his mess, but Raditz pulled a chair up to the plate-covered table.

“Hello brother,” he said with a smile.

Kakarot blinked around the turkey leg he was currently biting into before dropping the half-eaten carcass back onto his plate.

“Alright, what is it?” his brother asked with a raised brow.

Raditz blinked in feigned confusion. “What?”

“I know you didn’t want to enter this tournament, but you’re doing it cause Trunks wants you to, but you can’t just take a dive on the first round—” Kakarot began but Raditz waved him off.

“I’m not throwing the tournament, you idiot, but I need a favor from you!”

The younger saiyan tilted his head. “Oh. what is it?”

He leaned in. “Kakarot, you need to let me win.”

Kakarot shook his head furiously. “Aw, jeez, you know I can’t. Second place is only a million zenni. If I don’t win the full two million, Chichi will kill me.”

Raditz glared at his brother. “I’ll give you the difference. I’ll give you the extra million from my winnings.”

“Why would you do that?” Kakarot asked, clearly confused. “I thought you were entering to make some money too.”

_ Oh for the love of the great ancestor, _ he thought. “I don’t give a shit about the money, Kakarot. Trunks promised me something if I win.”

“Why would he do that? You can’t beat me.”

Raditz ground his teeth, but nodded in agreement. “Exactly. He’s being very underhanded by promising me something when he knows I can’t win against you. As your brother, I’m asking you to help me.”

Kakarot scratched his head nervously. “Well, I mean, I guess I could as long as I get the extra million.”

“You’ll get it, I promise.”

“Alright then,” he said, a dumb smiled curling upwards.

Raditz grinned. “Excellent.”

Yes, the half-breed might have thought he had made an airtight deal, but Kakarot was a soft-touch and Raditz felt no guilt taking advantage of it.

  
  


Trunks watched the end of the fight, horror mounting as Goku was steadily pushed towards the edge of the platform.

“Oh man!” the announcer called dramatically. “Will we be crowning a new champion this year?”

“What the  _ fuck, _ Goku!” he called, even as Chichi looked ready to lose her mind. “What is he doing, Trunks? Why isn’t he pushing Raditz away?”

“I—I don’t know! Maybe something is wrong.” he said, hoping to god that Goku would do something, but within seconds, the other saiyan was shoved out of the ring.

The stadium was silent as Goku hit the ground with a thud and Raditz stood close the edge, a look of self-satisfaction clear on his face . . . and then his eyes found Trunks’. The dark-haired saiyan raised a brow as the crowd went wild and the announcer hastily jumped into the ring and held Raditz’ hand up.

“We have a new Grand Champion, folks! Son Raditz!”

The other saiyan never took his eyes off Trunks even as he was walked around the ring.

Trunks got up. “I’m going to go see what is going on. That—that shouldn’t have happened.”

Chichi nodded. “Find out of something is wrong with Goku. Oh my god, maybe he’s sick.”

Judging by the way Goku was getting up without any trouble or help, Trunks doubted it. No, there was something else going on. He made his way down to the sitting room where the other fighters were congregated and congratulating Raditz. He slipped inside easily enough and knew that the other saiyan had noticed him.

“Oh, Trunks! Come to congratulate your friend?” Trunks looked over and met the shaded gaze of the announcer as the man continued. “It would have been a hell of a match if you’d entered along with Goku and Raditz. Never knew Goku even had a brother—much less one that could fight like that.”

“Yeah, it was a surprise for everyone,” he mumbled out.

An arm came around his shoulder. “Hey, babe!” Raditz said from beside him.

Trunks’ eyes widened like dinner plates as he looked up at Raditz. When had he learned that word, much less the context of its use?

_ Destroy the TV when we get home. _

The announcer along with many of the other fighters looked between them in surprise.

“You two are . . .” the announder began, but Raditz was quick to answer.

“We live together.”

Reactions around them were mixed. Some seemed confused while others groaned.

The announcer started to shake his hand. “Oh what a sweet story! Two fighters coming together and supporting one another! Did you meet through martial arts?”

“If I’d known Trunks was into dudes, I’d have made a move years ago,” someone else said.

Trunks felt his cheeks heating up as he froze. What did one do in this situation? How does one react when backed into this kind of corner?

Raditz seemed in his element. “Well, you know, we fought and he kicked my ass. How could I let him go after that?”

“Indeed, well, you got yourself quite the catch there! Trunks is one of the best fighters in the circuit!”

“Don’t I know it! He’s almost . . .  _ legendary.” _

Trunks swallowed and was about to croak out a response when Goku finally made his way over. The other saiyan’s nose twitched as he looked them over. He seemed confused as he eyed the way Raditz’s arm was slung around Trunks’ shoulder.

Trunks took the opportunity to escape. “Goku,” he called, stepping away from the other saiyan.

He approached the other saiyan, not looking back at Raditz as the other man was surrounded by reporters and photographers.

“What the hell happened?” he hissed out.

“Why don’t we talk over there?” Goku asked, pointing to a quieter corner farther removed from the growing crowd.

“You kinda smell like Raditz,” Goku said first.

Trunks didn’t answer that. “Why did you lose? Your family needs the money!”

“Oh, Raditz said if I let him win, he’d give me the extra hundred thousand.”

The lavender-haired warrior felt all the air leave his lungs. “Wh . . . what?”

“He said you made him a bad promise knowing he’d lose. That’s really not very nice, Trunks—”

“That’s not the point, Goku!” he said heatedly.

“What did you promise him, anyway?”

Trunks’ mouth snapped shut. There was no way he was admitting to Goku that he’d promised to kiss Raditz.

“It doesn’t matter. Just . . . don’t do that again, Goku. You shouldn’t cheat like that.”

Goku pursed his lips. “I don’t see how it matters if I get first or second place. I didn’t take a prize from someone else and I don’t really care if I win the tournament, so long as Chichi and Gohan are taken care of.”

“I know, but . . .”

He felt like a bit of a hypocrite, knowing that he and his friends were already gaming this system, fighting humans who had no chance anyway. He sighed before turning back to Raditz.

“So you’re boyfriends with the martial artist, Trunks?” a reporter asked the new champion.

“Oh my god,” he groaned out loud.

Goku looked back at him. “You’re dating my brother?”

“No!” he hissed out hotly. “This is all a big misunderstanding!”

Raditz spoke to the reporter. “Trunks is actually a very private person so I shouldn’t say anymore.”

“You’ve said enough already,” Trunks muttered before walking away in disgust.

  
  
  


Trunks had said nothing to him since they’d left the tournament. He’d been over run by reporters, sponsors, and competition higher-ups, all looking for a pice of him. One look at Kakarot’s shaking head was enough to know that he wanted no part in the rapidly brewing fiasco.

He’d left them all standing on the platform after collecting the check and shoving it at Trunks. The half-breed was no doubt already aware of the circumstances of the fight and what would be required afterwards to settle his debt with Kakarot.

The flight home was fast and unfortunately brief. He could have done with a bit more time to gather his thoughts about his next steps, but then the same could probably be said about Trunks and Raditz may very well be able to take what he wanted before the half-breed could overthink things.

Trunks landed ahead of him and immediately stalked inside. Raditz followed silently, his eyes never leaving the other man. When his lover moved towards the empty bedroom, no doubt seeking to leave him alone, Raditz finally spoke up.

“I think you owe me something,” he said.

Trunks didn’t turn back around. “You cheated.”

“As did you when you made that bet,” Raditz said as he stalked up behind the other man. “You’re so powerful . . . If you truly don’t wish to kiss me then stop me.”

With that, he put a hand on Trunks’ shoulder and yanked, forcefully turning the other man around so that they finally faced one another. The half-breed wasn’t looking at him, his eyes absolutely plastered somewhere over Raditz's shoulder. His brow was furrowed and his breath shuddering in . . . distress.

The younger man was nervous about what was to come. 

Raditz leaned in and he felt Trunks’ trembling breath against his lips just before their mouths touched. He breathed in the scent of half-breed as he moved his lips and tongue over the other saiyan’s.  He could tell that his lover was just as inexperienced with kissing as he had been with sex, but Raditz intended to fix that.

Trunks was stiff against him at first—cold and unmoving, but after a few moments of coaxing, he gradually began to relax. Raditz kept his touches gently and light as the younger saiyan’s tongue began to move against him and their bodies began to press closer.

“I want you so badly,” he whispered when they finally came up for air. Trunks bit his lip before giving a shallow nod and taking his wrist.

Raditz felt his heart hammer in his chest as they entered the bedroom and the half-breed began to pull off his clothes. The saiyan hastily followed suit, his eyes riveted on Trunks’ muscular back.

Trunks turned back to face him, his gaze hesitant before he reached into the drawer on the side table and pulled out a bottle of lube. The sight of his lover standing there naked holding the tiny clear bottle had Raditz’s already raging erection curling upwards even more. His tail lashed excitedly behind him as he approached the other man.

“I’m going to make this so good for you,” he said as he let his fingers graze over Trunks’ own hardness and the half breed was biting his lip as his hands came up to clutch at Raditz’ arms. He kept his movements slow and unthreatening as he pushed Trunks down onto the bed. 

His touches were light—lighter than they been even the last time they’d been intimate.

_ It was amazing, _ he thought as he ran the flat of his tongue over Trunks’ twitching stomach,  _ that such a powerful creature was so nervous about an act that infinite peoples engaged in every day. _

His fingers ran though pale indigo curls as blue eyes met his. The saiyan's mouth moved up and down over his lover’s shaft, his hands subtly squeezing the slick substnce from the bottle. He heard the sharp intake of Trunks’ breath as he moved his fingers down behind the half-breed’s sac.

His lover sat up slightly, his abs curling as he looked down at Raditz. He waited for Trunks to say something—to push him away or even just to shake his head, but Trunks merely licked his lips as Raditz continued to move his fingers inside. 

He added another, his hands sinking in over the knuckle, causing Trunks to shift further. Raditz found that his breathing began to match the half-breed’s and they moved together slowly as the younger man was prepared and eventually he fell back against the pillows with a sigh. Raditz added a third finger and pulled his mouth up and off with a messy pop.

“It doesn’t hurt any more?” he asked softly.

Trunks blinked up towards the ceiling. “It’s strange but not . . . not bad.”

Raditz pulled his fingers free and sat up between his lover’s spread legs. He quickly slicked up his erection before moving over the other man. The look on Trunks’ face when he finally slid home was one of confusion, of pleasure and a hint of fear. He felt Trunks’ legs flexing beside his hips as the other man fought with whether to throw him off or pull him in for more.

It was tight—almost uncomfortably so. “Ease up,” he whispered.

“That’s easy for you to say . . . ouhh.” The last part was more of a sigh as Trunks’ body gradually unfroze and he leaned more heavily into the mattress. His breathing was still coming in short gasps as he swallowed reflexively. Raditz couldn't help eyeing the way his adam's apple bobbed and sweat pooled in the hollows of the half-breed’s clavicles.

His lover’s lavender hair was spread across the pillow in a mess of colors reflecting the moonlight outside. Trunk’s eyes were closed as he got used to sensation of being entered for the first time and it wa all Raditz could do to hold the position when everything inside him was screaming for him to move—to claim—to have what he wanted.

His eyes instinctually moved down to that raised bit of skin at the junction of Trunks shoulder and throat. His tongue ran over his incisors, feeling the sharpness there and wondering how difficult it would be to hold Trunks down long enough to bury his teeth into the other man’s flesh.

Just then those blue eyes opened and he felt the air leave his lungs. Trunks’ hand came around his ribs and back and pulled him down until they were plastered to one another and soon enough he felt the other man’s feet move and start to dig into his lower back. 

Raditz’s tail moved, winding around Trunks’ ankle as he began to move slowly—shallowly.

Trunks voice was a reedy gasp of air that tinged with the smallest of moans with every movement as he pulled Raditz close and buried his face into the saiyan’s neck. He felt Trunks’ breath on his neck and briefly fantasized about Trunks digging his own teeth into him, but that would never happen.

No . . . this was all he had.

Raditz braced his hands on either side of Trunks and began moving in earnest. The arms of the strongest warrior in existence tightened around him and he knew he’d hit that sweet spot.

“Uh . . .” 

Trunks seemed incapable of forming words as he breathed little sounds into Raditz’s ear.

He reached down and took hold of Trunks’ erection and began stroking it in time with his thrusts and that soon sent the half-breed over the edge.  He felt Trunks’ nails dig into his back and felt the rise in the other man’s power level. For second, he thought his saw a flash of gold cross his vision but as quickly as it came, it was gone again.

The saiyan lifted himself up onto his palms and looked down at the half-breed spread out before him. Cum was streaked across his chest and his eyes were hooded with post orgasmic haze. He licked his lips and Raditz sped up his thrusts, keeping his eyes on Trunks until finally he exploded inside the other man.

He all but collapsed on top of his lover and breathed in the scent of  _ saiyan _ from the half-breed’s throat. Raditz rolled off the other man and the pair of them laid together, legs entwined for a few minutes before Trunks shifted and turned to face him. He did the same and the pair of them laid on their sides, their eyes meeting.

“You regret this, don’t you,” he murmured.

“If more saiyans come . . . you’ll try to leave. I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens.”

Raditz moved closer, his hand running over Trunks’ skin. “Do you want me to stay?”

“I don’t want to be alone anymore, but . . . you make me feel weak.”

_ Power _ . . . It was important to Trunks. It was important to every saiyan, but for Trunks, it was his way of life. Raditz was no fool. He’d long since noticed the way Trunks would leave for perhaps an hour or two but return fully energized as though he’d done nothing but train for days or even weeks at a time. Something was going on whenever he went to see the creature known as ‘Kami’.

Trunks was different from other saiyans—he felt things that most of their race weren’t capable of, but . . . he was striving to be like the others—focused on his training and strength and nothing else. Raditz wasn’t sure if he agreed with the sentiment, especially for someone like the half-breed, but he wouldn’t stand in the way of Trunks’ ambitions either.

“I’ll never . . . I won’t make you choose.”

The younger saiyan hesitated, but eventually he nodded. “Then stay with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'm staying with family during the holidays and there are kids running around so it's not the best environment for writing or editing, so I may come back and edit this chapter a bit and flesh some of it out a bit more(I'll mention it in the next chapter if anything significant changes). I’m not a huge fan of so many cuts in a chapter. I usually like to limit it to two or a max of three ‘scenes’ per chapter, but I’m terrible with fight scenes—though hopefully I’ll get better because there are some major throwdowns later. But as of now, everyone is just going about their usual business. Things will pick up next chapter, but I needed the characters at a certain point by then.
> 
> For ‘works cited’, according to the Dragon Ball Wiki, one zeni is basically one japanese yen. Some sources say it’s worth one and a half yen, but I figure one is fine for this fic. Given the way saiyans eat, I estimated that for two of them, it would equal roughly 5,000 USD which is just over a half million yen—or zeni. Lol
> 
> Also in accordance with the DBW, one minute of real time is approximately six hours, five minutes, and 15 seconds in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. Therefore, one hour realtime is equivalent to roughly fifteen days. So Trunks would leave Raditz alone for an hour or two and he would be inside the chamber for weeks training.


	11. Chapter 11

Raditz hit the ground hard, groaning at the hit and clutching his side.

“Had enough?” Trunks asked, his head tilting to the side as he eyed the fallen saiyan. There was a smugness on his face that made Raditz grind his teeth in frustration. No one but the _prince_ had ever been able to boast such an expression after a fight with him.

“Shut your mouth!” he barked out as he got up.

“Oh? You want to come over here and make me?” Trunks asked.

Raditz launched himself forward, fist outstretched in attack, but he got no closer than the length of Trunks’ arm. The little bastard caught his fist, holding him at bay without any effort.

“You could at least _act_ like this is difficult for you,” he hissed out.

Trunks shrugged. “You told me not to hold back.”

“Che,” Raditz grunted out. They both knew this was nowhere near the height of Trunks’ power. The kid hadn’t even powered up past some showy light streaks, and Raditz got the impression that _that_ had been more for his benefit than anything Trunks truly needed to do.

Trunks was about to say something else when he felt it, as did Raditz. The half-breed was blinking up towards the sky and he carefully watched his lover’s face as something unfamiliar passed over the other man’s expression.

“Who did they send?” Trunks asked, something almost strangled in his voice.

Raditz couldn’t be sure, of course, but the power level was high, nearly as high as Kakarot when he was busy besting Raditz during a spar. “It has to be the prince.”

“The . . . the prince?” Trunks asked and Raditz looked at Trunks again. There was again something off about his voice—a strange wistfulness that immediately put him on edge.

“Stay here,” he said firmly. “Let Kakarot take care of them, like we talked about—”

But Trunks shook his head as he cut Raditz off. “Goku won’t know what to do. He—He can’t kill the prince.”

The saiyan’s eyes narrowed, suspicious of the words, but he wasn’t able to think on it for long as Trunks took off into the sky. He tried to reach out to stop him, but the half breed was too fast.

“Trunks!” he called before lifting off himself and following behind. _What was the idiot doing? He would only make things worse._

Kakarot met them mid-flight. “I thought we agreed that you would stay out of this one.”

“It’s—It’s Prince Vegeta,” Trunks said as though that was supposed to mean something and apparently it did, because Kakarot turned serious.

“You know that doesn’t matter,” Kakarot began, but Trunks kicked his speed up and left them trailing in his wake. Raditz looked over at Kakarot.

“What the hell is going on? Why does he care about the prince?” he asked, confusion swirling around in his mind. Even as the savior, this sort of reaction to Prince Vegeta was entirely unexpected.

“He’s got his reasons,” was the only answer he received.

The trio landed just the pods made landfall.

 

####  **_Earth, The Protector_ **

“Sire, we are approaching the planet. We are beginning landing procedures.”

“Do not land!” Vegeta barked out.

“Sire?”

The prince glared at the tech. “I will _not_ be stranded on this planet with no way home like all the others who have come here. Two squads with me in pods down onto the planet.”

“Yes, sire.”

Vegeta left the bridge and walked towards the hanger bay. He was soon shadowed by his chosen squads and they all boarded with swift efficiency. He’d studied the planet’s geography and had selected a location that would be far removed from the general population of the planet. He suspected that the fighters who defended the planet would not take too kindly to dozen pods raining destruction down onto a city.

He’d also seen the video of the confrontation with Raditz and his squad. The prince itched for a fight, especially after being cooped up on the ship for three and a half months, but he would not endanger possible negotiations with the two saiyans who protected the planet. He entered the coordinates and the doors slid open allowing the pods to be launched two at a time.

The pod shook slightly as it entered the Earth’s atmosphere and descended onto the planet. He braced for impact and the ship shuddered as it came to a halt on the ground. His scouter was already beeping and indicating three incoming signals. The doors opened and he stepped out of the vessel and onto the dirt. He looked around, but could only see the blue of the sky and the brown of the soil. His pod had created quite the crater, it seemed, so he flew upwards and landed softly on the grass. The vegetation here was green in color which fit with the yellow sun and blue sky. Even in the nearly uninhabited prairie that they’d landed in, the prince could see greater signs of life than could be found on most of Vegeta-sei.

He heard the hissing of the other pods as their doors opened and the squad members joined him. Their scouters were beeping wildly and they shifted slightly but remained quiet. They did not have long to wait before the three signals arrived and their potential enemies landed.

He immediately recognized Raditz, though his hair had apparently been cut off. There was also Kakarot and the purple haired fighter who hung back. This couldn’t be the savior. He was too young and apparently a coward if he could not face Vegeta head-on.

Vegeta looked the trio over. “I am Prince Vegeta of the planet Vegeta-sei.”

Kakarot was the first to speak. “We don’t want any trouble. If you get back in your ships and leave this planet and never return, we won’t have to kill you all.”

Vegeta normally would have laughed at the blustering of a weakling with such a low power level but something wasn’t right. No one with a power level that low would have been able to wipe out Raditz’s squad so he was obviously hiding his true power. The question was how much.

“I was given a mission by my father, King Vegeta to bring back any and all full and half-breed saiyans found on this planet.”

The third-class shook his head. “That’s not gonna happen. This is our home and we have no desire to leave.” Kakarot turned back to address the purple-haired warrior. “What do you want to do about this? I know he’s the _prince,_ but . . .”

Until now, the weakest fighter had not looked their way nor said anything but the question seemed to rouse a response out of him. The fighter looked up and Vegeta’s scouter showed his power level to rise slightly but nothing drastic. The two made eye contact and Vegeta got the distinct sense of déjà vu.

The warrior spoke in a flat tone. “If they won’t leave, neutralize them and I’ll take care of the issue.”

Vegeta’s head tilted in curiosity. “Oh, and how are you planning to do that?”

The lavender-haired warrior’s face remained expressionless. “Nothing you need concern yourself with, prince. This is your last warning, leave or face the consequences.”

“I will never run aw—”

Suddenly Vegeta’s scouter began beeping frantically. He reached up and hit the button on the side to accept the urgent message from his ship.

“What is it?”

“Frieza? He’s . . . ”

That first word—that . . . name _._   _Frieza_ . . .

Vegeta hit the button on the scouter again. “Change of plans. We need to leave.”

The was a shift in the air behind him. “What _about_ Frieza?”

Vegeta turned back around and almost took a step back when he realized that in the half second he had looked away, that the purple-haired fighter had phased right beside him.

“Frieza is attacking Vegeta-sei,” he said without thinking.

Vegeta almost turned back around when he heard the next words to leave the fighter’s mouth. “I warned him . . .”

Vegeta’s eyes widened and he looked back to see the warrior bring his fingers up to his forehead. He would never be sure later what possessed him to do what he did. Things seemed to move slower and he heard Raditz yelling.

“Dont! Trunks!”

He reached out and grasped onto the younger man’s arm and suddenly felt himself being paralyzed even as it felt like he was being thrown through the galaxy. The next second, he felt his feet meet the ground and staggered back before falling onto his backside.

He looked around in shock taking in the duel suns and red sky. “This is . . . This is . . . ”

The fighter looked down at him with hard eyes. “Vegeta-sei.”

 

####  **_Vegeta-sei_ **

Trunks turned to his father. “Keep away from the battle, prince.”

The prince let out a furious growl. “How dare you! I will not run like a coward.”

He shook his head as he reached out with his senses towards the oncoming armada of the arcosians. “You will only get in the way and if you get captured or killed by Frieza, you’ll complicate an otherwise simple battle.”

“What?!”

Trunks didn’t answer and instead took off into the atmosphere. It was impossible to miss the massive assemblage of power levels as thousands of Saiyans had gathered to defend their planet against Frieza. He watched as the lizard took pleasure in the slaughter. The arcosian could have blown the planet up before Trunks had even arrived but it looked as if he wanted to have some fun with the saiyans first.

Trunks flew past hundreds of saiyans as he made his way towards the center of the frey. He heard a few gasps of ‘savior’ but paid them no heed. He narrowed his eyes when his gaze finally fell on the pale alien. He was in his fourth and final form. Frieza was apparently taking no chances this time.

Trunks knew the instant Frieza spotted him. The air became still and the awareness of another powerful being flowed over them both. The alien hung in the air motionless as Trunks came closer and closer.

Frieza's gasping words and his look of horror halted the fighting around them. “You . . . You aren’t supposed to be here.”

Trunks did his best to ignore the whispers that swirled around him as both the saiyans and Frieza’s own men tried to understand what was happening. “I told you, Frieza. If you came here again, I would destroy you. And after I’m done with you. Your father and brother are next.”

Frieza’s eyes widened in fear before narrowing as he growled. “I am far stronger now than I was twenty-five years ago, boy!” As he finished he fired a ki blast that would have cut a swath through the surrounding fighters, had Trunks not deflected it effortlessly.

“I’ve also improved since we last fought. Though that’s a bit of an overstatement. The only thing I remember about that _battle_ was you running like a coward.”

“Why, you little—I’ll destroy you!” Frieza launched himself forward towards Trunks and the two grappled, punching and kicking at one another. This went on for a few minutes and Trunks resisted the urge to power up to super saiyan. That transformation was as easy to achieve as sliding on a perfectly tailored jacket, but he’d keep it at bay for as long as he could.

“What’s wrong, boy? Don’t want to reveal your power?” Trunks’ eyes narrowed as Frieza continued. “You’ve been hiding these last two decades from the saiyans. You could have easily made yourself a god among them but instead you disappeared and crawled back to that little mudball planet at the edge of the galaxy.”

“What of it?”

The arcosian spread his hands out in a parody of a welcome. “Join with me. You’ll never have to hide yourself or your power. Your planet will be protected. I’ll even spare these monkeys of yours.”

“I want to believe you Frieza,” he said slowly. “That you would learn from this experience and that all it would take would be for me to walk away. But we’ve done that once and you didn’t learn.”

Trunks took a breath as he floated back away. Time to end this and leave. There would be far more witnesses to his ascension than before, and after bringing Vegeta here, he’d probably need to leave Earth for a while, but . . . Frieza was a pest that needed to be swatted.

Trunks allowed his gaze to meet Frieza’s and knew the second his eyes shifted color.

“No . . . It can’t be.”

Trunks unleashed his power with an astonishing yell that echoed for miles. His lavender hair defied gravity to point towards the sky before it began to glow with the light of a star, blinding those who looked directly at it. His green eyes flashed as the power of the super saiyan took hold. He phased out and appeared before Frieza, his hand held out only inches from the arcosian’s face.

“No!” Frieza had no chance to finish as he was vaporized.

The only movement around him was the wind which blew the ashes of the arcosian away. Trunks hung there a few seconds before taking a short breath. He wasn’t tired or even exerted, but the death of Frieza marked the end of an era. Things would change soon. This choice to come here and save the saiyans a second time . . . there was no hiding this . . . not anymore. It wasn’t long before he heard cheering around him as the saiyans moved closer to the man they knew to be the savior. Trunks allowed his lavender hair to fall back into place and raised his hand to his forehead.

“Don’t!” a deep voice called and there was such a familiar sense of command that Trunks whirled around automatically.

The man facing him was someone he never thought to see, much less actually face. The saiyan king had the same sense of nobility that his father had carried, and there was no mistaking the upswept flame of hair.

“Don’t leave again,” the king said.

Some strange sense of . . . of longing came over him. The intelligent thing to do would be to leave without breathing another word but . . . “I did what I needed to do to protect you,” he said softly. “You don’t need me anymore.”

As he spoke, Prince Vegeta approached as well, his face a mix of fury, jealousy, and confusion. It was so similar to the first time he’d seen the Vegeta of the other timeline that he paused.

The king came closer, looking over Trunks critically. “You are family. You belong here with us.”

 _What?_ Trunks thought as a beam of cold dread shot through him. “How do you know that?” he asked.

“I have had decades to puzzle over your existence and everything that could have possibly brought you about. Looking at you now, you are my son’s very image. A prince of our race. My grandson.”

Trunks swallowed uncomfortably. “Maybe once, I could have been. But things are different now. I’m different . . . ” Trunks looked over at the prince. “He’s different.”

The king came even closer, and Trunks flinched back slightly but mostly held his ground as his—his _grandfather_ raised an arm and rested his hand on Trunks’ shoulder.

“Different doesn’t mean wrong. He may not be quite the man you wanted but he isn’t the only one here,” the man said softly. “I would make you an heir to my throne.”

Trunks shook his head, his brow furrowed. “Can you not see what I am? How can I be worthy of the title of prince?”

There was no hesitation or doubt in the king’s face. “You saved us _twice._ Look around you. There are none who would deny you your title.”

Trunks _did_ look up and watched as the other saiyans cheered and called for their savior. “I’m not a savior. I’m just Trunks.”

“You’ll be more than that,” the king said as his hand tightened over the lavender-haired warrior’s shoulder. Trunks jerked back as he felt the pinch on his neck, his hand flying up to cover the area even as he saw the king holding some kind of small infusion gun. Trunks blinked as his eyes became heavy. Would his own grandfather drug him in order to kill him?

“What did you do?” he asked softly for lack of any other thought.

Trunks was only able to hear one more thing before completely passing out. “You’ll thank me for this one day . . . _Trunks.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the chapter is so short, but I'll try and have 12 up soon!


	12. Chapter 12

####  **_Vegeta-sei_ **

The prince watched as his father caught the . . . the half-breed. His brow furrowed as he took in the way the boy sagged against the king, his eyes falling closed as whatever had been injected into him kicked in. The way the man held onto the purple-haired super saiyan was strange in the eyes of the prince. His touch was . . . gentle.

“Father, what have you done?” he asked, suspicion forming in his mind.

The king’s eyes were only for the savior. “Assured our continued existence,” he said before he called out to the surrounding saiyans who were watching with confusion. “The savior needs to rest after using so much power. Go forth and celebrate our victory over the lizard!”

The prince could tell that the saiyans weren’t really buying it but they wouldn’t disobey their ruler. The king took off towards the palace with the prince and a few others not far behind. They landed and the king carried the young saiyan inside towards the royal wing.

Servants and guards all bowed as they passed but couldn’t keep their eyes off the spectacle of their king carrying anyone, let alone a stranger with purple hair. The king had only had one lover for over a decade—everyone knew that. Perhaps Bardock’s place by the king’s side was finally being usurped?

The king stopped before the door across the hall from his son’s room and a guard scrambled to open it quickly allowing his ruler passage into the grand room.

“Why are you putting the half-breed in here?” Vegeta asked, fury lacing his tone. “This is the royal wing!”

The king set his burden down onto the bed and turned to his son. “Everyone, out! I must have words with my son.”

The room cleared quickly, the door shutting softly and silence reigned before the king spoke. “He is of royal blood and will be an heir to the throne.”

Vegeta had never doubted his place or his power before. He had always been the only child of the king, the only possible heir and his power was unrivaled. His father’s words . . . it felt as though the bottom fell out of the prince’s entire existence.

“You . . .” he began, his voice rough with an unfamiliar emotion. “You would replace me with this purple-haired freak!”

The king’s expression was flat. “He is your son, Vegeta. He will be  _ your _ heir.”

_ Son? _ His father had clearly gone insane. “That’s not possible,” he said as his face twisted into one of disgust. “I have no children, and especially none who look like  _ that.” _

His father shook his head as he one more gazed on the half-breed. “He is from another time. That is why he has only aged a few years from the last time he was here. He came all those years ago to Vegeta-sei and saved us, almost assuredly for your benefit. At some point in his past you went to this . . . Earth, perhaps to find Raditz’s brother and you stayed and bred with a native there.”

_ Time Travel? This boy was from the—the future? _ He felt a headache beginning to set in.  “Another time—have you lost your  _ damn _ mind!?”

If anything, the king seemed entirely calm—composed, as though this was exactly what he’d expected. “There are things I haven’t told you about, Vegeta,” his father said after a moment. “Creatures beyond this plane of existence that harness time itself to set mortals on the proper path—to guide us in the direction they wish.”

He’d heard stories of beings and gods, but . . . “This boy is no  _ god.” _

King Vegeta shook his head. “No, he’s not, but he’s somehow found a way to tap into that power.”

The prince looked back towards the half-breed. Now, with the knowledge of a relation, yes . . . he could see the resemblance between himself as the younger man, but for this to be his son . . .  _ Why? _

“Even if that’s all true,” he began with an uncomfortable swallow. “Why would he come back here and change history so much? He has almost assuredly erased his own existence.” 

_ He  _ had _ erased his existence, _ the prince thought. Vegeta would be damned before he willingly bred with some weak ugly human.

“I don’t know. But  _ you’re _ going to find out,” the king said pointing towards him.

The prince baulked, his arms crossing in front of him. “Me?”

“Yes. You will sit by his bedside until he wakes and then you talk to him and convince him to stay here.”

Vegeta waved his hand dismissively. “Why bother? He has already defeated Frieza. His job is done. Let him go back to his weakling planet. He isn’t needed here anymore.”

 

* * *

 

The king could see the jealousy clouding his son’s face and while he’d usually humor the prince’s wants, this was not one of those times. “Vegeta, I did not raise you to be an idiot. You have been educated by the greatest minds and strategists in the empire. Act like it! The entire Arcosian Empire will come down on us—King Cold and Cooler especially—now that Frieza is dead. Cooler is more powerful than Frieza and far more violent and reckless.”

His son drew himself up to the fullest of his less than impressive height. “Father, I can fight and defend us. The people have been saying that I am destined to be a super saiyan. My power is without equal.”

The king shook his head. “You saw the same thing that I and everyone else did. This boy is a super saiyan, his power is enormous and he is, as of now, the only one who can defend us when the full might of our enemy crashes down upon us. So he cannot leave. There is nothing you or I could do to force him so he must stay of his own free will. He will not listen to me because of this trick so it must be you.”

The prince stared at him for a long moment before looking away. “As you wish, father.”

The king nodded and turned away. He left his son and grandson lone, closing the door behind him and warning the servants and guards not to enter.  He had work to do and plans to set in motion. 

He turned to his new secretary. “Get me in contact with Earth.”

“Of course, sire.”

The king made his way to his study and sat down before pulling up the viewing screen. An officer from Vegeta’s ship came on. 

“You are still orbiting Earth,” he said, looking over their coordinates on a pad.

The man nodded shortly. “Yes sire. We’re not sure what is going on, the prince has disappeared from our scanners.”

The king could see the numerous messages from the ship that had come in over the last half hour as the saiyans aboard the ship and one the ground tried to make sense of both the prince and the Earth-fighter disappearing as well as the news of Frieza’s arrival on the planet. 

“He is back on Vegeta-sei,” the king said.

The tech looked shocked and confused. “Sire?”

“The savior is capable of things we hadn’t thought possible and both he and the prince are on the planet, but that’s not the reason I am speaking to you. Do you still have soldiers on the ground?”

“Yes, sire. “

“Are their scouters still operational?.”

“Yes.”

“Patch me through to them.

“Of course, sire.”

The screen went black for few seconds before coming back and showing the planet of Earth. He could only see what the scouter could see, but that was enough. Several of the saiyans that had accompanied the prince stood waiting for orders while a commotion went on further away. He didn’t say anything for a minute as he took in the small group. Kakarot, Raditz, and a blue-haired human female were arguing and despite the distance, the scouter could still pick up their words.

“What the heck happened?! Where is Trunks?” the woman asked.

Kakarot shook his head and made an unconcerned shrug. “He just disappeared with one of the others.”

“Vegeta-sei was under attack so he did his duty and defended his home planet,” Raditz added as he crossed his arms.

The woman poked a slender finger into Raditz's massive chest. “His home planet is Earth, buddy!” she yelled in agitation.

The king had heard enough and spoke. “Soldier, this is your king. Give Raditz your scouter.”

The video feed jarred slightly as the saiyan realized someone else was there. “Oh! Of course.”

It was jostled further as the scouter was removed from the soldier’s head and flown over to the other saiyan.

“My king,” Raditz said as he placed the scouter over his own eye.

“I am gratified to see that my trust in your skills of survival was not misplaced. I assume Trunks’ comrades will want to know what happened. He somehow transported himself here and then destroyed Frieza.”

Raditz let out a gasp. “Frieza is dead?”

The blue-haired woman and Kakarot both looked in his direction in concern and there was recognition of the name on the younger saiyan’s face.

The king wasted little time answering the squad-commander’s rhetorical question. “I need some information from you but simply answer yes or no to my questions. I know that Kakarot is listening.”

“Yes, my king,” Raditz said simply.

“Is Kakarot more powerful than you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He’d thought as much. “Stronger than Trunks?”

“No.”

“Are you and Kakarot the only full saiyans left on the planet besides the soldiers?”

“Yes.”

“Are there any other half-breeds?”

“Yes.”

“Is this other half-breed anywhere near Trunks’ level?”

“No.”

So Kakarot had bred with a native as well, but even if the offspring was not as strong as Trunks, it could still be useful. “I have reason to believe that Trunks’ mother is on that planet, have you located any who may be related to him?”

The video feed of the scouter showed Raditz turning his head and the blue-haired native came into focus. “Yes.”

_ Great Ancestor, she is ugly, _ he thought. All skin and bones and flat blue hair. Trunks, at least, had the benefit of his saiyan heritage giving him a respectable physique. This human girl was . . . well, the king felt a marginal amount of guilt towards his son for what he was planning to do.

“Tell them that Trunks will be remaining on Vegeta-sei in order to help us with our enemies. We do not need Kakarot or his spawn . . . For now. But the female—bring her back to Vegeta-sei.”

Raditz hesitated only a fraction of  second before responding. “Yes, my king.”

It was not outside the realm of possibility that Raditz could have developed a bit of an attachment to the humans and the half-breed . . . not of the scent that covered Trunks was any indication. Bardock’s line all shared the same . . . needs. Thankfully, unlike Bardock, Raditz was entirely loyal to the saiyan empire. 

“You will be rewarded greatly when you return, Raditz,” he said.

“Thank you, sire.”

He cut the connection and sat back. His grandson, the savior, the  _ super saiyan _ was here. There was much to announce—to plan for. Frieza was dead and now all eyes in the galaxy would be upon them.

The king picked up his personal pad. It displayed all information gathered by his secretaries about official duties, but also confidential memos from his various intelligence cells and a particular small thing caught his attention.

The God-King was on his way to Vegeta-sei.

 

* * *

 

Trunks clawed his way back to consciousness. He had no idea what the king had been thinking, drugging him like that, but it only delayed the inevitable. Once he was fully awake he would leave the planet.

The half-saiyan pried his eyes open. His first impression was of an intricately crafted ceiling with mouldings painted in a variety of colors. It was actually very beautiful and he’d never seen anything quite like it before.

“Finally.”

Trunks turned his head and found the prince sitting beside him, looking irritated. “I thought you’d never wake up,” Vegeta said with a disgusted twist of his lips.

Trunks sat up with effort. “I won’t waste any more of your time.”

He brought his fingers to his forehead and began to feel around for Earth. 

The prince shook his head. “You will not leave until I have said my piece, half-breed.”

Trunks turned his head to look over at Vegeta, looking more regal in his blue uniform and cape than Trunks had ever seen him before. In the other timeline Vegeta had cared little for personal grooming or for frills in his clothing and armor. This Vegeta had perfectly styled and defined spikes to his upswept hair. His gloves were a pristine white as if they had never seen combat.

“My father thinks that you saved this planet twice . . . for me. But you don’t even really know me do you?” Vegeta asked with narrow eyes. “He says you are from the future and that you came back in time to change history. What I want to know is what could be so very terrible that you would risk your own existence here to change everything.”

Trunks looked away. He licked his dry lips as he debated on how much to divulge. “He was called Zamasu. Three super saiyans could not defeat him . . . and no, you may be biologically identical to my father, but you are not him.”

His eyes moved over the younger version of his father once more. “You sound like him, you look like him but very little of you is the same. But that’s okay with me because if I was going to go back and make sure Zamasu never became a threat, I might as well make sure you aren’t forced to live a life where your species is all but extinct under the boot of the tyrant who caused it.”

Trunks looked back up and their eyes met. “You seem far more . . . happy is too strong a word . . . content—more content than I have ever seen you before. My father was bitter and jealous of anyone more powerful and he lashed out, sometimes with violence, at everyone who tried to help him.”

Vegeta snorted. “Oh, don’t think I won’t make every attempt to beat you into the ground, boy. Now that I’ve seen it, I will become a super saiyan as well.”

He nodded in agreement. “I have every confidence in you, Vegeta.” Trunks again brought his fingers up to his forehead.

“I want you to stay.”

The words brought him up short. The air in his lungs left him and he blinked in confusion as he processed the words and their meaning. Stay? Why would Vegeta ask such a thing of him?

He tried to put those questions from his mind. “Earth is my home and I have done things . . . things I am not proud of and things I wish never to think of again in order to protect it. I saw the longing in you, for more of your kind, for the ability to go home. I saved this planet so you could have your home back but I never had any intention of staying here.”

The prince’s eyes moved over his face and hair, as though really seeing him for the first time. “If you saw this all in the other me, then you must have seen my desire to show you all that we are. All that the saiyan race has built and created from nothing. I longed for my home because I longed for the people and culture that gave me pride in our race. I would have you experience that and be proud of your heritage.”

“You were always so proud. Your pride as the prince of saiyans was what kept you going, I think.”

Vegeta nodded. “You never got to experience the splendor of being the prince of a great empire and your father no doubt would have wished for you. I would fulfill that wish for him if you will allow me to.”

Could he do that? Could he stay here on Vegeta-sei with the saiyans? His first inclination was to say ‘no!’. He’d worked so hard to make a quiet life for himself on Earth. It was the planet he’d grown up on, the planet he’d protected, the planet where everyone he loved had always been.

But it was also the place that distracted him . . . the place where his eyes moved from his goal to never lose another battle to wanting . . . something else. What was it that he’d promised himself? That he would be strong, like his father and Goku—that he would put his training above everything else.

“I—I . . . I’ll stay. But only for a while,” he said.

Vegeta sighed in relief and gave Trunks an odd sort of smile, as if his face was unused to contorting in such a way. “Your grandfather will be relieved. He’s already planning a celebration in your honor, I’m sure.”

Trunks felt himself shrink away from the idea. “I don’t know, Vegeta, parties aren’t really my thing. I kind of prefer living out in the woods in solitude.”

Vegeta quirked a brow. “Perhaps that is something I should try if you got to your power level living like that.”

Trunks wanted to say that ‘no, he’d been beaten every day of his young life nearly to death by androids and then witnessed his mentor and friend murdered and that was what got him to be strong.’ But this was a happy moment for the prince and Trunks would not spoil the good mood.

Staying here even for a little while was probably a terrible idea but Goku was also a super saiyan and should be able to fend off any threats to Earth.

The prince stood up. “Come, boy. Let us go and assure the masses of your continued health.”

He sent Vegeta a sardonic look. “You mean, your dad drugging me in the middle of thousands of saiyans didn’t engender confidence that you wouldn’t kill me in my sleep?”

Vegeta shrugged indifferently. “The king would never harm an heir, especially one that single-handedly destroyed the greatest threat in the universe.”

“Frieza was never the greatest threat,” Trunks said as he too got up. “Others came after that tested the strength of everyone.”

The prince paused and his expression was incredulous. “There are beings more powerful than Frieza?”

He shook his head. “Not anymore. I took care of them years ago before they could fully develop into real threats. But that doesn’t mean that others that did not appear in my timeline won’t materialize. If there is one thing I have learned for all this; it’s that there is always someone stronger than you.”

“Humph. I’ve yet to see any being who could match the power of the super saiyan.”

Trunks raised a brow. “You’ve yet to leave your quadrant of the galaxy as well. There are . . . beings out there that can erase entire universes with a wave of a hand.”

The prince immediately baulked. “That’s—That’s not possible. No one has that kind of power.”

Trunks turned to meet his eyes. “I’ve seen it.”

“You’ve seen it . . .” Vegeta echoed, his voice soft with a hesitant sort of disbelief. 

“I saw the end of a universe. I wasn’t strong enough to defeat Zamasu . . . no one was . . . but the omni-king . . . he came and simply . . . erased him, but in doing so, he erased everything. Nothing survived but the most basic elements.”

He heard the sound of an uncomfortable swallow from the prince before Vegeta spoke again. “You’ve stopped this from happening here?”

“I’ve done all that I can for now.”

“That’s not a yes.”

Trunks shook his head. “There is no way for me to simply kill him—not right now, but I’ve taken away many of the opportunities that lead to his creation.”

The prince stared at him for a long moment before nodding and looking away. “Come on. I don’t have all day to play nursemaid.”

Trunks let out a snort of a low laugh at the change in subject and followed Vegeta out of the room.


	13. Chapter 13

####  **_Earth_ **

Raditz looked back at Kakarot and Bulma. “Trunks went back to Vegeta-sei using that technique of his. He has agreed to stay there to defend the saiyan empire from the arcosians. I must go now. I have been recalled back to Vegeta-sei.”

Bulma turned to him. “Trunks would never agree to that. And even if he did, he would come back to earth to let us know. He wouldn’t just disappear.”

“I can only relay what I’ve been told. As it is, I am leaving this planet now. The Saiyan Empire will leave your planet alone from now on.”

“Goku, we can’t leave Trunks there!”

Kakarot shook his head. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, Bulm—”

“Then do something about it!” she screeched.

“There’s nothing we can do short of going to Vegeta-sei ourselves.”

“Fine!” she said before turning back to Raditz. “I’m going with you.”

The younger saiyan immediately blanched. “Bu—Bulma! You can’t!”

The woman crossed her arms. “Oh really? You gonna stop me?”

Raditz looked between them before stepping in. “Kakarot, if the woman wants to go into space to make sure her friend is alright, you have no right to stop her.”

Raditz mused that perhaps if Kakarot paid as much attention to the schemes going on around him as he did to his food, he’d have seen through so obvious a ploy but as it was, the man could say nothing to convince his friend otherwise

“I’ll take the prince’s pod back up to the Protector,” he said. “We’ll send a shuttle down to collect you, Bulma.”

She nodded, her expression pensive. “I need to pack some things.”

“Be back in this location in twenty-four hours and the shuttle will be here.”

“Alright.”

Raditz gave the pair of them one last look, his eyes meeting those of his brother’s and in that moment, he made a promise to himself. He’d get his brother back to their planet—back to their father. Kakarot wished to stay on Earth, but that was only because he’d never known anything else. Fighting was in his blood, though, and he would thrive on Vegeta-sei.

He rejoined the other saiyans as they received their orders to return to the ship. They surveyed his loose earth-style clothing and no doubt detected the scent of another all over him. He said nothing and neither did they as they got back in their pods and left the planet.

Being back on a saiyan ship was like a breath of fresh cycled air. The gravity was like a blanket draped over his shoulders. He’d felt slightly uneven on Earth, as though a stiff breeze could knock him over because of his seeming weightlessness.

He was met by the captain of the ship before he even met the bridge.

“Squad-commander. I’ve yet to receive an official report on what happened down there. Where is the Prince? Should we not immediately depart for Vegeta-sei if Frieza is there?”

Raditz shook his head. “Prince Vegeta was returned to Vegeta-sei by the savior. Frieza has been destroyed.”

The man reared back. “What? I thought the savior was a myth.”

“Oh, he’s quite real,” Raditz said knowingly. “I’ve spent the last three months with him.”

The captain took a subtle sniff before replying. “Have you, now?”

He snorted. “Do not assume things that you have no knowledge of. Anyway, I believe you heard the king’s orders to depart after retrieving the human woman?”

The captain nodded hesitantly. “Yes. Though I can not understand the reasoning for ferrying a weak human female halfway across the galaxy.”

Raditz shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s not for either of us to question the king,” he said but didn’t explain further. He had no idea how much information the king wanted out there about Trunks. “I will take the Prince’s quarters since he will no longer need them. Prepare a suitable set of chambers closeby for the woman. She is an important guest of the king.”

The captain raised a brow before nodding. “Of course.”

Raditz nodded before stepping away and walking down the hall. He felt the eyes of the other saiyans aboard on him. They eyed his shorn hair, loose clothing, and lack of scouter. He cared little for them, even as their scouters beeped and showed a drastic increase in his power level.

He stepped into the Prince’s former quarters and sighed. Everything was familiar and yet he could not help missing the tiny primitive house that he’d shared with the little half-breed. The saiyan had thought that the moment he stepped aboard a ship that these feelings—these  _ desires _ would fade. Many of the others aboard were physically attractive and he imagined that very few of them would decline his offer.

And yet, he had no desire to extend it.

He wanted only Trunks.

Raditz grimaced as he sat down in front of the comm terminal. His father was probably going crazy without him. The saiyan typed in the codes to connect him to his father’s personal terminal. The line beeped before declaring the code to be offline.

“What?” he asked aloud into the silence of the room.

He tried again, but the result was the same. _ Where the fuck was his father? _

Raditz typed in another code and connected after only a few seconds of waiting.

“Raditz!” Zushin said loudly. “You’re alive!”

“So it would seem,” he said with a smirk.

Zushin of House Saledey was one of Raditz’s few friends, but he was a rarity in that he was noble, but wasn’t a complete blowhard. Zushin was rather easy-going for a saiyan and seemed to get along with anyone and everyone.

The other saiyan nodded. “It’s been three months. We all thought that dead zone planet got you.”

“It got the rest of the squad,” he said. “But I’m still kicking. I’ll be headed back soon.”

Zushin blinked. “Oh! Uh, maybe you should hold off?”

Raditz’s brow furrowed. “Why would I stay on this backwater planet a day longer than necessary?”

The noble’s mouth formed an ‘O’ of understanding. “I guess you don’t know . . .”

“Don’t know what?” he asked, his mind racing a mile a minute contemplating what had gone on in his absence. 

Zushin bit his lip. “Your father, Bardock resigned his position after you were . . . killed. He took a pod and is headed for the dead-zone planet.”

“What!?” he yelled. “Why the fuck would he do that?”

The other saiyan tried to calm him. “Everyone thinks he finally just went completely crazy after losing you on top of your brother.”

Raditz’s eyes narrowed. His father was far from insane—no matter the mask he wore in front of others.

“Kakarot is alive as well.”

“Whoa,” Zushin said, clearly shocked. “Your brother too? Is he strong—like you and your father?”

“Yes.”

Zushin shook his head. “Man, your bloodline is something else, Raditz.”

The saiyan shrugged. He’d been hearing such comments for years.

“But get this,” Zushing said, leaning in closer to the camera as if they were sharing some secret. “I got to see the savior—I can’t decide if he’s gorgeous because of his shear power and presence or if he’s hideous with that limp purple hair—but I hear that when he goes super saiyan that it’s  _ blonde.” _

It irritated Raditz that he wouldn’t know either way. Trunks had hardly ever powered up past his suppressed power level, even when sparring with Raditz or Kakarot. Before he could respond, Zushin leaned in even further, his voice lowering theatrically.

“Hey, people are saying he smells like another saiyan, but I obviously couldn’t get close enough to confirm that. Was he with your brother? Or were there other saiyans on that planet? Does he . . . ya know . . . have a mate?”

Raditz sent his friend a withering look. “Kakarot is the only other saiyan here, but that scent is  _ mine.” _

Zushin leaned back. “Yours? Raditz, you sly dog. You trying to bag yourself a prince?”

“Prince?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

The saiyan noble nodded quickly. “No one’s told you? Wow, I really am the first person you’ve talked to—”

“Just spit it out!”

“The king announced that Prince Trunks is the son of Prince Vedera and an alien woman—”

Raditz cut him off. “Prince Vedera? He’s been dead for almost thirty years!”

“I know! It’s so shocking! Everyone is saying he faked his death so he could marry outside our race.”

He raised a brow. “Then has anyone explained why he came to Vegeta-sei twenty-five years ago and then vanished only to show up again?”

Zushin scratched his chin. “Yeah, no one has said anything about that. He didn’t look old enough to have been here twenty-five years ago, but hey, maybe his mother’s race is really long-lived or something.”

Humans had especially short lives but Raditz held his tongue. He needed to think this all over—needed to speak with the king about what he was to do with the human woman.

_ Trunks was a prince? _

Thinking on it, the spark of familiarity made sense. Trunks resembled the royals, though more specifically Prince Vegeta. They had the same smug smirk and the same glare. Whether that trait was shared with Prince Vedera, Raditz was unsure. He’d never met the late prince so he didn’t have much in the way of reference.

Personality-wise, Trunks resembled the king more than Vegeta, but that was probably more-so a culmination of his past . . . whoever had put those scars on his body.

He quickly ended the conversation with Zushin, even as the man begged for more details about the new prince. The saiyan pushed away from the terminal and got up; walking around the small room as theories, ideas, and plans swirled in his mind.

Raditz looked out the viewport towards Earth. His father was headed this way, but in a pod it would be months before he arrived and the saiyan did not wish to remain here any longer than necessary. The shift in power in the capital could prove to be a challenge for Trunks depending on how the king handled all these new revelations.

He pursed his lips before turning around and walking out of the room. He was tired but there was less than twenty-four hours remaining before they left. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he headed for the hangar.

He secured a pod without question and launched back towards the planet. The coordinates put him a few miles from his destination, but close enough that Kakarot met him halfway.

Kakarot blinked at him in confusion. “I thought you left,” he said.

“I needed to speak with you, brother.”

“If this is about me leaving again,” the younger saiyan began, but Raditz was quick to cut him off. 

“Hardly.”

Kakarot shrugged. “Well alright then. Why don’t we go back home. Chichi is making dinner and Gohan wants to say goodbye, anyway.”

Raditz nodded, accepting the sentimentality even if he could not relate to it.

His nephew met them outside, lifting off from the ground with a smile. Despite rarely seeing the boy, he could tell that Kakarot had indeed been training him. His power level had increased noticeably.

“Congratulations, brat! You are nearing into second-class status.”

Gohan smiled. “Really? That’s a whole lot considering the first time you told me a newborn would crush me.”

Raditz grinned and touched the boy’s hair in semblance of affection. The door to the little house opened and a woman stepped out. He’d yet to meet Kakarot’s mate in these last three months, but she looked nearly saiyan and her powerlevel was quite a bit higher than the rest of her race. He could see Kakarot’s attraction to her.

“Goku! You didn’t tell me your brother was dropping by!” she said, glaring at her mate.

“Sorry Chichi!”

Raditz oved forward. “My apologies, sister, for the short notice. I simply wanted to have a conversation with your mate, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“What’s this about?” she asked. “I heard Trunks just vanished!”

He nodded. “The half-breed somehow transported himself back to our homeworld along with our prince. He’s elected to stay there, which is only fitting considering that he’s a member of the royal family.”

Kakarot didn’t seem overly surprised by the relation which had him raising a brow, even Chichi gaped. 

“Wait what?” she asked. “Trunks is royalty?”

Raditz nodded. “He is the son of the king’s late brother. He could not technically claim the title of prince, however the king has bestowed it upon him in honor of his victory over Frieza.”

“Wow, that’s . . . that’s quite impressive,” Chichi said softly.

“As for my purpose here, Kakarot, our father is headed here.”

“F—father?” Chichi asked

He looked back at her. “Yes, our father resigned his position and he is headed here. It will be many months however until he arrives.”

“Wow, really?” Kakarot asked before turning to Chichi. “Raditz says we looked almost identical.”

“Another Goku?” she asked with a moan.

Raditz raised a brow. “Considering the value you place on education for your own child, I would have thought that you’d be more accepting.”

She blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Has Kakarot not told you? Our father is considered to be one of the most brilliant minds on the planet. He is a geneticist and inventor, and he heads up several science and education departments within the imperial government—or he did.”

“Are you serious?” she asked, looking at Goku critically.

He nodded. “Quite. If you ever decide to visit Vegeta-sei, your son would have access to the best instructors and education available in the galaxy.”

Chichi blinked as she looked down at Gohan, her expression thoughtful before looking back up at Raditz.

“Maybe when he’s a little older,” she said, and Raditz nodded as she continued. “I need to finish dinner. I’ll see you inside Goku,” she said before walking away, dragging Gohan behind her.

“Come on mom, I want to go to Vegeta-sei—”

“Going through my wife and son to get to me, huh?” Kakarot asked.

Raditz’s mouth spread into a toothy smile. “Nothing I said was false. It would please our father greatly if you returned home.”

“Earth is my home.”

“But it’s not where you belong,” he said before sighing. “I did not come here to hash out old arguments with you, Kakarot. Father will be here in approximately nine months. I expect another ship will come here sooner or later to pick him up as the king won’t allow another year to pass before our father returns.”

“Why would the king care?”

_ Where to begin with that particular question, _ he thought. “Father is one of the king’s confidants and allies,” he said simply.

“Oh. Wow, he really is a bigshot, huh.”

He snorted. “You have no idea. Ayway, just make sure he stays out of trouble until a new ship arrives and keep this.” Raditz handed over a scouter. “Great Ancestor knows if the man brought one with him, but use this to notify me of his arrival and I will do the same when a ship is en route.”

“Sure, bro.”

Raditz rolled his eyes. “Until next time, Kakarot!” he said before lifting off and taking off into the sky. His next destination was relatively close by and so it didn’t take him long to land in front of Trunks’ home. He looked around, taking in the emptiness that seemed to permeate the entire area.

There were things inside these homes that Trunks valued—that he would assuredly wish to come back for at some point. Raditz walked up to the first building and pressed the deactivation button. There was an explosion as the home compressed back down into a capsule. He did the same with the other house and the gravity chamber before lifting off again.

_ One more stop, _ he thought.

The population of Capsule Corp seemed to be in a mass panic. Raditz raised a brow as humans moved quickly around the complex, some yelling into their communications devices, and whispers followed him as they caught sight of the giant saiyan.

He stepped up the receptionist desk. They’d always waved Trunks through without issue but this was the first time Raditz had come here alone.

The tiny human woman looked up. “Sir, I’m afraid Miss Briefs is quite busy today preparing for a trip.”

He nodded. “Yes, I know. I am the one handling her transportation.”

The girl’s eyes went wide. “Oh, I see. I’ll let her know you’re here.” She pressed down on a button on her desk and spoke into her head set. “Miss Briefs, there’s a man here to see you—yes I know you are quite busy but he says he is working with you on the transport for your trip . . . Sir what was your name again?”

“I am Son Raditz,” he said.

“Son Radi—Yes, ma’am, I’ll send him in right away.” The connection was cut and the girl hit another button. Normally the doors to the right leading to the labs opened, but this time, the door to her left opened. “The lift will take you to Miss Briefs’ floor.”

He nodded, walking past the woman and stepping into the cubical. He felt it move and sighed as droll music played. The doors eventually opened again, and he stepped out onto the carpeted floors. The saiyan looked around with his brow furrowed. He’d never experienced what humans would consider luxury, but this . . . it reminded him of the palace. Beautiful stone lined the walls while rich carpets and dark woods paved the way to various room. There were gilded frames and beautiful artworks on the walls, highlighted by well placed lamps.

He looked around before his ears eventually caught voices coming from one of the rooms.

“Who the hell cares if I don’t have his account number? I’m just trying to make sure it’s paid up for at least the next year. Since when has your bank turned down someone  _ giving _ you money?”

He recognised the blue-haired woman’s squawk as she continued. “Jesus Christ. Trunks can’t make these decisions—he’s not on the damn planet at the moment . . . no he’s not dead, but he’s otherwise engaged.”

Raditz stepped into the room and found more humans walking around the room, gathering items and packing things away while Bulma screeched into her comm device.

“Ya know what? Nevermind. I’m just going to buy the damn bank!” she said before hanging up. She then turned to one of the humans—an older man that was furiously typing something up on a personal terminal. “Buy the damn bank and take care of this.”

The man looked up. “Miss Briefs—banks aren’t really part of the company portfolio—”

“They are now,” she said before she finally noticed Raditz. “I was hoping you would drop by.”

His head tilted. “I figured you wouldn’t want to walk onto the planet blind.”

“You figured right,” she said

He looked around at the flurry of activity. “Do you really need so many humans?”

The others looked up at him and he couldn’t help allowing his tail to drift away from his waist and sway lazily by his side. They were too ‘professional’ to completely freak out, but they were clearly taken aback.

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Raditz, quit scaring my people. I need them here. There’s a lot of paperwork when the VP of a major tech company just leaves the planet for months,” she said with a shake of her head. “Not to mention making sure Trunks’ property doesn’t go into foreclosure or something while he’s away.”

Raditz shrugged. “I care little for weakling red tape. I simply wished to offer you some advice.”

She raised a brow. “What kind of advice?”

“Saiyans respond well to having their egos stroked. If you come the planet empty-handed, the king may feel that you do not respect him.”

“So you want me to bring gifts,” she said with a snort.

He ignored her impertinence. “Precisely. Your capsule technology will be of interest, but other things that Trunks designed such as the fabric of his gloves or your 3D manufacturing capabilities, but perhaps the most valuable would be the gravity chamber and training bots.”

She didn’t seem surprised. “You guys really only care about fighting, huh.”

“It is in our blood.”

She shrugged before nodding. “Fine. I have three others plus the one you are no doubt carrying from Trunks’ place.”

“Three gravity chambers will go a long way to secure an amiable first impression.”

“Sure,” she said before waving him off. “Now let me get back to work.”

“Of course,” he said before turning and leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story is pretty kind to Chichi. I always feel like Toriyama made her into this shrieking harpy that is a caricature of the 'overbearing mother' figure, constantly telling her kids they have to study and they can't go out and play. 'Aren't moms so lame?' the show seems to ask whenever she's on screen. I decided to strip her character back to the girl who married an uneducated fighter at a martial arts competition. I don't like to define women by their relationship with men, but for the purposes of the show and this story, that is the defining decision that has completely shaped her life going forward.
> 
> Instead of insisting on Goku getting a regular job(which he would be completely unqualified for), she would insist that he make money doing what he does best. Fighting. I understand that she's picking up on norms in Asian schooling with the competition to get into the best universities and such, but I don't think any parent would try and completely strip their kids of all interests outside of education. There's room for both.
> 
> But that's just my take on her. :)


	14. Chapter 14

####  **_Vegeta-sei_ **

Trunks sat alone in the grand bedroom, arms resting on his knees. He’d long since chased off all the servants that had pushed and pulled him into dressing in clothing that had seemingly materialized from nowhere. It wasn’t like the saiyan armor of old, but something sleeker and designed to show off the body. He grimaced at the way the overcoat was cut around the crotch, leaving nothing to the imagination.

He was expected soon, but he hesitated in going. The king had said this banquet was in his honor. He’d been declared a prince of the royal family only hours ago—without his knowledge or permission. It was surreal to be sitting in there—to look out onto the capital city and see it lit up with shades of lavender and indigo in celebration of his victory.

The color of his hair.

Raditz had at first seemed repulsed by his hair—the clear mark of his ‘otherness’ from pure saiyans, but as the weeks had gone by and as their physical relationship grew, the other man had been scarcely able to restrain himself from touching Trunks’ hair. He remembered Raditz’s words during their last night together.

_Your tail would have been the same color . . . what a sight that would be._

He grimaced as he reached back and rubbed the slightly furry spot on his lower back. The . . . uniform was clearly cut for a typical saiyan—one with a tail. The cape covered the hole, but he still felt the air on the skin of his lower back.

Trunks shook his head. He wasn’t ashamed of his lack of tail—hadn’t even thought about it during his life. His mother had removed it when he’d still been a baby, but even the servants here had eyed him with a touch of apprehension as they saw his bare waist.

His lips twisted and he contemplated leaving anyway, promise or no promise—but then he felt it.

_What_ is _that?_

The lavender-haired warrior blinked, his body freezing as he took in the massive power headed for the capital. He’d—He’d never felt power like that before. _Who is it?_ He’d long since destroyed Majin Buu and Zamasu had been a kai and so his power could not be sensed, but this one—whoever it was . . . they outstripped even Buu many times.

“What the hell,” he ground out before standing. He threw the cape off—it would only get in his way—and lifted off from the ground and flew through the open balcony doors into the air. He looked up into the sky and pinpointed the direction the power was coming from.

_The person . . . they were on a ship headed for the palace,_ he realized, eyes widening.

He drew up his power and prepared to launch himself towards the craft when someone cried out his name.

“Trunks! No!”

The half-breed’s head swiveled to the side and he caught sight of the king hovering a few meters away. He’d been so focused on this new power, that he’d drowned out everything else.

“It’s headed for the palace!” he yelled back, his head shaking.

The king nodded. “He is an invited guest from Andromeda Galaxy.”

“Guest?” he echoed. Who would invite such a monstrous power?

His grandfather approached him, halting only when they floated side by side in the air above the palace. “Yes. The God-King is someone we’ve been courting as an ally.”

Trunks let out a snort. _“God-King?_ That’s what he calls himself?”

“Would you tell him any differently?” the king asked with a raised brow.

He opened his mouth to snap out a reply before thinking better of it. “I suppose not,” he said after a few seconds.

The king jutted his chin back towards the balcony. “Let’s go back inside, prince.”

“How did you know what was going on?” Trunks asked as he followed the older saiyan.

“I happened to be on my way to your chambers when the scouter picked up your power level spike and traced your path. It wasn’t hard to deduce that you thought there was a threat.”

“And your sure this God-King isn’t a threat?” he asked as they landed. “He’s incredibly powerful.”

The king nodded. “He’s far too busy ruling over Andromeda to care about us.”

“Then what is he doing here?”

King Vegeta’s expression was thoughtful. “I invited him, however he was already on his way here even before the communique was sent. The wuerle conveyed to us that he’d sensed your power and came to see you.”

_Oh, well that’s just perfect,_ he thought acidly as the dawning sense of deja vu threatened to overcome him. All the things he’d done to head off threats and the second Frieza was dusted, another came crawling out of the woodwork—one stronger than any he’d ever faced.

“Then how do you know he doesn’t want to fight me?”

The king seemed unconcerned. “He doesn’t fight anyone anymore—not unless they attack him first.”

He watched as the older saiyan began making his way back into his quarters and could not help admiring the way the king’s cape billowed perfectly behind him despite the lack of wind.

“Why did you declare me a prince?” he asked and the king paused in his steps but didn’t immediately turn around to face him.

“Because you are,” the man said evenly. “You are a direct descendant of my line and therefore and heir to the throne.”

Trunks shook his head. “I still don’t understand how you . . . you figured it out. Even I . . . I’m sometimes not sure about it all.”

The room was quiet for a moment before the king eventually spoke again. “Frieza should have destroyed this planet and everything on it,” he said softly and Trunks could hear a strange sort of emotion in the man’s voice. “There would have been very few survivors as we were in the middle of a planet-wide holiday where all saiyans return to the home world to honor our great ancestor the super saiyan. We had your DNA because of your fight with Frieza’s lackies so I knew rather quickly that you were related to us, more specifically to my son. Had Frieza succeeded in destroying the planet, and if my son survived to adulthood, he would have eventually procreated with another species.”

“But time travel—” Trunks began, but the king cut him off.

“I am aware that it is possible.”

The lavender-haired warrior blinked in confusion. “You—how?”

At this, the king finally turned back around to face him. “The gods can travel through time on a whim, and really it was the only explanation for a fully grown super saiyan that is assuredly the son of my only child to just appear and carry out one task and then disappear as though he was never there. But I assure you, this was not the first explanation that I thought of, but you have been one of my foremost priorities for the last twenty-five years.”

Trunks shook his head. This was not going the way he’d planned. First a title and now some God-King from another galaxy that he’d never heard of. “None of this was supposed to happen. I’m no prince—I’m nothing like the other saiyans. Even your servants think I’m some tailless freak.”

The king’s eyes didn’t slide down to his waist, but there was no way he could have missed the cutout in his uniform where a tail was supposed to be.

“Were you born without a tail?” The kin asked.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “It was removed when I was still a baby. My dad died less than a year after I was born and my mom didn’t want to risk me turning into an oozaru without anyone around to help her.”

The king nodded in understanding. “Your mother’s race is a weak one. They wouldn’t have been able to stop you, had you transformed, but if you would like your tail back, that is something that can be fixed. Our genetics lab has long since perfected the regrowth of certain organs, including tails.”

“Re—regrow my tail?” he asked.

His grandfather tilted his head. “Yes. it is a simple procedure—thirty minutes in and out.”

“I . . . I probably shouldn’t. If I turned—who knows what would happen.”

The king shrugged. “This planet’s full moon is not for another two years, but all saiyans stay indoors when that happens.”

“But Earth—”

The older saiyan waved off his protests. “It would not be difficult for you to train your mind to accept the oozaru. You do not even need to transform to experience the mental hold of our most basic instincts. The prince will teach you.”

Trunks looked up. Could it be that easy? Did he even want his tail? Did he want to be accepted by these saiyans when he had no intention of staying?

The king seemed to see his indecision. He picked up Trunks’ discarded cape and held it out to him. “If you do not wish to keep the tail, it is a simple thing to remove it again, but I would ask that you give it a chance—give your people a chance.”

“Is a tail really that important?” he asked after a moment.

The king kept his words and expression carefully neutral. “You are a prince of our race and our tails are one of our defining features—it is a point of pride for us. Your father was not there to teach you this, but as your grandfather, I can not help but try and convince you to fully immerse yourself into the culture and heritage of your bloodline.”

“I suppose I can try it out,” he said after a moment, before nodding. “Yeah, sure. Let’s do it.”

The king smiled and got up. “Come with me,” he said.

The pair walked down the hall, passing other saiyans who could not seem to keep their eyes off of Trunks and the lavender-haired warrior wondered if this was just something he would need to get used to. The king seemed to know the way to the genetics lab like the back of his hand, and perhaps that was just something that came with being king—knowing where everything within the large palace complex was. They eventually arrived and the doors slid open smoothly allowing them to step inside. Techs of various species scurried about until one finally noticed the pair.

“My king!” she squeaked out.

The others soon looked over and began falling all over themselves to approach the pair.

“How may we be of service?” she asked.

His grandfather gestured towards him. “The prince Trunks lost his tail some time ago. He would like it regrown.”

The scientists looked at one another. “Sire, this is a research lab—”

The king raised an unimpressed brow. “Should Prince Trunks go to the barracks clinic like a third-class?”

The sentient’s eyes were wide like saucers as she hastily shook her head before gesturing towards a side door. “This way please.”

The king nodded and Trunks sighed as they walked into the room. There was a long table situated in the middle of the room, but it was otherwise bear.

“This room will provide the prince with some privacy,” she said. “Please remove your clothing and lay down on your stomach. I will return momentarily.”

Trunks nodded and the sentient stepped out. He looked at the king who leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“Well?” his grandfather asked. “We still have a banquet to attend.”

“Oh!” Trunks said awkwardly before pulling the overcoat and cape off. He was left with the skin-tight bodysuit that slipped off easily enough. All that remained were his underthings and he looked over that king once again, but the saiyan’s eyes didn’t meet his. They were riveted on the many scars littering his body.

_Raditz had been the same,_ he thought.

The king’s eyes moved over the marks. “You have seen many battles, prince.”

“Yeah,” he said but didn’t elaborate further as he got up onto the table and laid down on his stomach. The king continued to look him over before speaking again.

“We can have those removed as well—not right now, but perhaps tomorrow.”

Trunks looked up. “What?”

“Your scars. Nobles and royals rarely have scars on their bodies. You have quite a few so it would take a few hours to address them all, but it can be done.

He shook his head. “That’s okay. I’m used to them.”

The king titled his head, confused. “You are sentimental towards your past pain?”

Trunks looked away. “I don’t want to forget what I saved and what I lost.”

The king said nothing and the door opened once more. The sentient came inside and set down a tray on the table. She picked up a pre-filled syringe and needle.

“This may hurt, my prince,” she said quietly.

He nodded and the sentient inject the spot multiple times, spreading the liquid around beneath the skin. When she was finished, she held a small device over the area,

“This will activate the stem cells,” she said.

It felt warm at first, then hot, but not painfully so.

The sentient then picked up the scalpel. “I need to remove the scarred skin and leave the wound fresh. Would you like anesthetic?”

“It’s fine,” Trunks said, remembering the pain of being impaled, blasted, and burned. He felt the blade cutting through his flesh, but he was able to compartmentalize the pain as he would in battle so as to not be hindered by it. The king watched the proceedings but kept his place against the wall. Once the scarred tissue was removed and placed in the tray, the sentient stepped back.

“It will take a few minutes for the cells to align and produce the tail.”

The king nodded and went to dismiss the sentient but the small woman spoke up. “My king, I know that I’ve mentioned it at our weekly briefs but we do really need you to select a new department head—much of our work has come to a stand still without someone to direct the process—”

“Bardock will be back.”

The sentient blinked. “Eh? I was under the impression that—” the sentient cut herself off, stammering out a few sounds before continuing. “That he resigned.”

“You are mistaken,” the king said flatly. “He has simply taken a temporary leave of absence. He will be back soon enough.”

The sentient bowed quickly. “As my king commands.”

Trunks blinked at the conversation. _Bardock_ . . . where had he heard that name before? He couldn’t place it right off hand, but whoever it was, he made the king slightly uncomfortable.

“Who is Bardock?” he asked.

The king’s eyes slid over to him before he grimaced. “He is the head of the science division as well as a few other departments—one of our most gifted and brilliant scientists. He’s also the father of Raditz and Kakarot.”

Trunks’ eyes went wide. “Raditz and Goku’s dad? He’s—I never thought . . . Where is he?”

“He took an extended leave of absence following the news of his son’s death.”

“Son,” Trunks said slowly as realization dawned on him. “Raditz?”

The king nodded. “Yes. After we lost contact, he was assumed dead, and Bardock tried to resign in order to grieve in solitude. I did not accept his resignation, but instead we are waiting for him to return.”

The lavender-haired warrior swallowed. “Raditz isn’t dead . . .”

“No . . . He isn’t, but Bardock is currently in stasis in a pod so we can not communicate this to him until he awakens.”

Trunks nodded solemnly. He suddenly felt so much guilt for Raditz and his father—the other saiyans that he had killed as well. Would their families come after him and demand justice?”

“I didn’t kill Raditz, but the others . . .”

King Vegeta waved dismissively. “Do not worry, prince. Bardock is . . . a special case. Most saiyans accept death as a natural part of life and move on. So many of us are killed in combat that to die in such a way is considered the norm and you . . .”

“What about me?”

The older saiyan shrugged. “If they were killed by your hand, their families would consider it an honor that they were even given the chance to engage in combat with the savior of Vegeta-sei.”

“That’s . . . that’s kind of messed up,” he said after a moment.

The king’s expression was pensive. “Perhaps, but ours is a culture that values power above personal attachments.”

Trunks was about to respond when he suddenly felt a massive pain in his back.

“Ah!” he cried out, more in surprise.

He leaned forward and the doctor rushed back inside and towards the site of the procedure. Trunks looked up at the king and saw a brief flash of pride—of self-satisfaction—before the expression was wiped away and replaced by the pleasant grandfatherly demeanor that had been there since they’d met.

_Which was the truth?_ he wondered as apprehension began to take root in his mind. He felt something moving around inside the wound—fingers digging something out—before the pressure eased and he took a steadying breath. There was an unpleasant fleshy sound as he assumed his tail was being pulled from his body.

“No deformities,” the doctor said and the king nodded in response.

Another scientist hurried over as well and Trunks continued to clutch at the bed, his fingers splintering the hard material as though it were papier-mâché. He shuddered as they repeatedly rubbed along the length of the tail.

“What are you doing?” he asked, breath catching and body flinching.

“I apologize for the sensitivity. It will wear off soon, but we need to get the fur cleaned.”

_Fur_ . . . he thought. He had a furry tail now.

“Keep it close to your body, prince,” the king rumbled out. “Until you’ve desensitized it to attack.”

Trunks nodded and eventually the medical personnel finished he was able to sit up again. The new appendage waved a bit behind him and he felt a hand touching him. It was gentle and he looked up to find the king fingering the lavender fur of his tail.

“It is . . . a beautiful tail,” the king said after a moment before releasing it.

Trunks worked on wrapping it around his waist like the other saiyans did and frowned as the bright fur contrasted heavily with the dark indigo of his new outfit. Trunks stood up and pulled the over jacket back on, securing his tail through the holes as he was meant to.

The king sized him up before clapping him on the shoulder. “Now you look like a saiyan. Come, we have a banquet to attend.”

“Do I really need to go?” he asked.

His grandfather snorted out a laugh. “Yes. You’ve already been announced as a prince of the royal house—my nephew.”

“Nephew?” Trunks asked in confusion, as they walked out.

“I can hardly announce that my time traveling half-breed grandson has appeared and saved us because we're all supposed to have died.”

Trunks blinked before nodding in understanding. “I see your point.”

The king nodded. “Good,” he said as they began walking out of the science department. “Remember, you are the son of my younger brother, Vedera, who disappeared thirty years ago, but you also have no idea where he is, as he left your mother before you were born.”

Trunks sighed and nodded. _More lies._

“I realize this may be difficult for you, but in the long run, this is the best choice. Stay close to me or Vegeta for this. I do not want anyone questioning you too closely until you’ve had time to memorize more information.”

“I won’t be staying long enough for that to really be important,” Trunks said.

The king’s steps halted and he turned to face the youngest saiyan prince. “You’ll stay long enough to fulfill your duties as a prince of this empire.”

The half-breed met his eyes squarely, unintimidated. “I _didn’t_ agree to be a prince—I didn’t agree to stay so you could parade me around. I agreed to stay because of my fa . . .” he trailed off, looking the king over with new eyes as the events of the afternoon and evening clicked into place. This man—he was dangerous. Not to Trunks specifically, but King Vegeta would do anything he felt was in the best interests of his family and people—including drugging his own grandson.

“The prince didn’t want me to stay, did he?” Trunks asked after a moment. It made sense. Prince Vegeta had all but disappeared from his sight since their conversation.

The king was entirely unrepentant. “Prince Vegeta is the only person you would listen to.”

Trunks felt his eye twitch in anger. “So those were your sentiments rather than his. You used my relationship with my father to manipulate me into staying here.”

“You say this like it’s a bad thing. Prince Vegeta is uninterested in family or children—he is barely out of adolescence himself. He can not give you what you want—”

Trunks shook his head. “I never asked for anything from him. I expect nothing—”

He was unable to finish his statement as his grandfather move his hand quickly to Trunks’ shoulder and shoved him back until he hit the wall. The older saiyan’s fingers formed a tight grip, holding him in place.

“You are a _prince,”_ the king said, his tone angry and offended. “Everything is yours by right.”

Trunks shook his head. “I’m not a prince. I’ll never even exist in this timeline.”

The man was undeterred. “Perhaps not, but you are genetically part of the royal house—you were and _are_ wanted. Not since my son’s birth, have I been so proud of my family.”

Trunks swallowed. _Proud_ . . ? His grandfather, the king . . . was proud of him? It was a strange thought.

The king released him with a disgusted hiss. “Get that look off your face, boy, lest your new subjects think you a soft target. Now let’s go. Just get through this evening and I’ll have no other expectations for you, alright?”

Trunks snorted at the deflection, but said nothing more as they continued to walk towards the grand ballroom. The closer they got, the more saiyans came to surround them. _Assistants and secretaries,_ he realized. The king’s entourage. But where had they been this entire time?

King Vegeta must have sent them away while they’d been speaking and regrowing his tail before. The new appendage twitched around his waist and he tried his best to keep it tucked away and stationary, despite the way it seemed to want to swish around him.

He could feel the gathering of power levels within the large room. The prince was already in attendance, but the massive one belonging to the God-King wasn’t there—that one was still in another part of the palace, but he supposed that this was the creme dela creme of saiyan society.

The king leaned in as the guards began opening the door. “Remember, everything that you do here will be relayed around the galaxy—to anyone who would think of coming here to start something with the saiyan empire.”

Trunks nodded and walked in behind the king as their presence was announced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a couple of mock-ups for Trunks and King Vegeta. I didn't mean for the king to come out so evil-looking, but that's just how he wanted it lol.


	15. Chapter 15

Trunks did his best to keep his head held up high. The king had told him not to show weakness—that these people would eat him alive if they smelt blood in the water. All he needed to do was get through this evening.

“His Majesty the King Vegeta, and Trunks, Prince of Vegeta-sei.”

The doors opened and he walked in just behind the king. The saiyans and sentients in attendance gave their bows as the pair entered. He kept his eyes ahead as they approached the throne. Prince Vegeta was already there, standing beside the great chair. Trunks took his place just beside the other prince as the King sat down. He was not the crown prince and therefore he should be slightly further from the throne than his ‘cousin’.

The king looked out onto the crowd and all was quiet until he began speaking. “My nephew was not born on this planet,” he began, his tone carrying the surety of his power. “He is different from us and yet he came to us in our hour of need. He is the legendary super saiyan—our great ancestor reborn. There is no one else more deserving than he to be not only a royal relative but a prince and an heir to the throne. He knows little of his heritage, so it is my hope that you all—as my closest friends and allies—will help him to understand the place he has found himself and the prestige of the royal house of Vegeta-sei.”

There was a roar of applause as the saiyans signaled their support of his words—publically, anyway.

“Let the festivities begin,” he said as the lights of room faded from the warm red of the royal house to a violet, bathing the room in a purple glow. He noticed as well, that several of the nobles also were wearing various shades of purple.

Trunks stood rooted to the spot until Vegeta snorted in exasperation and all but shoved him off the dais and into the crowd. He stopped himself from actually hitting anyone, but he could see the amusement on their faces as they came around him.

One saiyan all but shoved his way forward. “Prince Trunks, it is a honor to make your acquaintance. I am Zushin of House Saledey and I can not begin to express the eternal gratitude of my house—”

“Every house,” another said speaking up. “I am Appen of House Tobaga.  _ Every _ house thanks you for saving all of our lives, yesterday.”

“It was . . . the right thing to do,” he said hesitantly. They blinked at him as though his words made very little sense to them but hurried on anyway.

“Well, right thing or not,” Zushin said quickly. “We are all in your debt. I hope you will not hesitate to call upon me. My home is close to the palace if you are ever wishing to see something besides the palace training yards.”

“Well, that is, Prince Vegeta—”

Appen leaned in. “Ah, your cousin will be acting as your guide? I suppose that’s to be expected. I expect his responsibilities will shrink slightly now that you’re here.”

Trunks felt his brow furrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

There was something suspicious in the innocence of Appen’s face as he answered. “There are now two heirs to the throne—one clearly more powerful than the other—”

Trunks felt the corners of his lips turn down. “I did not come here with any designs on the throne.”

“Of  _ course _ not,” Appen said quickly and just a touch theatrically. “But you must understand how saiyan society works. Power is  _ absolute _ in all things.”

“It’s not everything.”

Appen pursed his lips, seemingly not wanting to offend him, but sure enough in his nobility to feel confident in his ability to debate the savior prince. “And yet you weild it without effort,” he said lightly. “I wonder if you even realize what you’ve done.”

Trunks was about to respond when he felt it. The massive power from before. It had entered the room quietly, but its presence brought on a silence of its own. It made its way towards him until it stopped just behind him.

It waited there to be noticed, but said nothing to catch his attention. The other saiyans with whom he’d been speaking quieted, their eyes wide as they looked from Trunks back at whoever it was that waited for him.

He sighed. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said to the saiyan nobles.

They nodded hastily before all but scurrying away—no trace of the proud warriors they’d been before. The half-breed finally turned around and was forced to look up to meet the dark eyes of the sentient.

The Supreme God-King was a large being—male, he thought. Broad shoulders taped in to a thin waist followed by powerful legs. He had grey skin, a small flat nose, and large dark grey eyes. He did not appear to blink at all, giving him a slightly unnerving quality.

Others in the room had backed away from the pair as they stood staring at one another. Trunks felt his eyes slide over to where the king and prince stood. His grandfather’s face was schooled in an expression of indifference while Prince Vegeta had not quite mastered that. There was  _ concern _ reflected in those dark eyes—worry for Trunks’ safety.

He looked back at the sentient, holding his hand out in an Earth greeting. “Hello, Supreme God-King,” he said as placidly as he could. The grey alien’s eyes finally moved from his face down to his hand in confusion. 

One of the many attendants stepped up. “The God-King is not to be tou—” she began, but a swift movement of the sentient’s hand, made the words die. He looked from Trunks’ outstretched fingers back to his face before stepping forward and reaching out himself. He took hold of the prince’s hand and Trunks shook it briefly. He could feel the monstrous power of the sentient brushing against him.

“You do not fear me,” the God-King said at last.

Trunks’ eyes narrowed. “Why would I fear you?”

The sentient stepped even closer, his fingers tightening around Trunks’ own. “Come. I would have a private word with you, Prince Trunks.”

The God-King didn’t let go as he turned and lead the prince away. Trunks looked once more towards his family and the prince took a step forward, but the king’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. The last thing Trunks saw before exiting the now silent room was the prince turning angrily toward the king.

They didn’t go far, only to the balcony outside the large ballroom. Much of the God-King’s entourage followed them out while a few stayed close to the wide double doors, possibly to keep would-be eavesdroppers away.

“Your king fears me—everyone in this galaxy fears me,” the God-King said as they came to a halt by the railing. Trunks looked out over the capital, taking in the beautiful twinkling lights of the sky-reaching buildings.

Perhaps it was a trick of the city lights and lavender glow of the city as it celebrated, but when Trunks turned back to the God-King, he could swear that he could see an iridescent purple ring in the weurle’s eyes, as if the entire galaxy was reflected there.

“Again . . . Why would I fear you?” he asked.

The god-king’s head tilted slightly. “The creatures of this galaxy rely heavily on their little bits of technology to determine strength. Most have grown lazy and have little need to seek the knowledge of ki when they can simply have a string of meaningless numbers spin before their eyes.”

He was speaking of scouters. Trunks looked over at the entourage. None of them wore scouters, he realized.

“But you can sense my power—you can feel all that I am, can’t you.”

Trunks felt his brow furrow in confusion. “I suppose, though I assume you are hiding more than eighty percent of your power.”

The God-King’s face was still expressionless even as he nodded. “You know this about me—know that I could wipe this planet away with little more than a thought . . . but you aren’t afraid.”

Trunks did not feel that the God-King’s words were a threat, more a statement of fact. 

He snorted. “Many people can destroy planets these days—”

“Yourself included?”

The half-breed met the sentinel's gaze. “Yes.”

The first break of the God-King’s neutral expression came then. A tiny tugging of the other man’s lips as he spoke. “At first I wondered about this new creature—a super saiyan that destroyed Frieza. I was aware your power when you destroyed him. Curious but it was still insignificant compared to me. I truly believed there was no reason for interest or concern . . . and then I felt you today.”

“Felt me?” Trunks asked.

“When I arrived close to the planet. You were headed towards me. You planned to  _ fight me.” _

Trunks felt his fist clench.  _ Shit. _

“I was obviously mistaken. I took you for a threat—”

The God-King waved a had in dismissal. “I am hardly offended that you wished to protect your world—what interests me is that despite knowing what I am, you still thought you could stand against me.”

Trunks looked away. He wasn’t sure if he could have defeated the God-King or not. He’d never encountered the man in his own time or in any other timeline. And neither Goku nor his father had ever mentioned such a man when he’d been there. The God-King was incredibly powerful, but Trunks was hardly a slouch, either—not when the color of his hair shifted to that particularly floral shade.

His eyes came back to meet the sentient’s. “What are you asking me?”

“What I wish to know is if that was some sort of misplaced saiyan bravado . . . or if you have power beyond what you displayed when you defeated Frieza.”

Trunks made a dismissive noise.“Whether I do or do not possess any additional power is not exactly any of your business. My gr—uncle tells me that we are not even allied with your empire.”

The God-King continued to look down on him with large unblinking eyes. “That is true. Our galaxies are rather far removed and I do not feel it is the responsibility of my people to defend other empires so far afield from our own borders.”

“If we are ‘so far afield’,” he said with a raised brow. “Then what are you doing here? You were headed this way even before receiving an official invitation.”

The man’s face was still expressionless even in the face of accusation-laced question. “True power is a rare find these days, Prince Trunks—more so when one does not desire the political power that accompanies it.”

Trunks’ eyes narrowed. This God-King far too well informed for someone who allegedly cared little for the plight of the Milky Way galaxy.

“Do not seem so suspicious, Prince. When a warrior appears as though from thin air to defeat someone like Frieza and then disappears . . . people notice.”

He grimaced. “I’m really not used to this whole ‘prince’ business. It’s just Trunks.”

The God-King was silent for a moment before speaking again. “Then, I would have you call me by my name, as well. I am Jiren.”

There were several sharp breaths taken by various members of the entourage and Trunks narrowed his eyes. The God-King’s name had never been spoken of, even in passing by anyone else. He was always just, ‘The God-King’.

“Jiren,” Trunks said slowly.

The sentient nodded. “Yes, and as to your question about why I was already on my way here, I had my people comb this galaxy for you for  _ years _ after your first appearance—but no one could find you.”

That brought him up short. “You searched for me?”

“Yes. To be honest, I thought perhaps Frieza had wounded you to the point of death but that King Vegeta was keeping that secret in order to fend off the arcosians for as long as possible. Imagine my surprise when I’m informed that Frieza returned to this planet, and with his return, the fighter I’d been looking for appeared once more.”

“I’m not here to make a name for myself—just to protect my family.”

Jiren seemed pensive. “So you would not leave this planet because you could not protect it?”

Trunks bit his lip. He didn’t intend to stay here indefinitely, but no matter what Jiren said, he wasn’t Vegeta-sei’s ally.

“I’ll remain here for as long as the arcosians are a threat to the saiyans.”

Jiren raised a hairless brow before nodding. “I understand,” he said before backing away. “I apologize but I must excuse myself from the rest of your banquet, Trunks. Some matters need to be addressed this evening.”

Trunks nodded, watching as Jiren and his flurry of assistants walked away and the prince was left standing alone on the balcony. 

_ What a crazy experience, _ he thought before turning to look towards the city. His solitude didn’t last as the king and prince came on either side less than a minute after Jiren’s departure.

“What did he say?” the king asked.

“He wanted to know how strong I am,” Trunks said simply, “And if I would stay here and protect this planet.”

The king raised a brow, his expression indifferent, but there was obviously something going on behind those eyes.

“I don’t think he meant it as a threat,” he added softly.

His grandfather wasn’t so convinced. “Everyone is a threat, Trunks. If they aren’t part of the royal family, then they are a  _ threat _ to the royal family.”

Trunks blinked at his grandfather. “What would you have done if I wasn’t part of your family?”

The king’s head turned back to him, his eyes flat before he smiled. He leaned in so that Trunks could feel his breath on his cheek. “If you weren’t related to us by blood—I would have used other means.”

As he spoke, his hand came up until his fingers ran over the junction between Trunks’ neck and shoulder. Trunks’ eyes went wide. Raditz had told him the significance of the spot—what it meant to the saiyans. The lavender-haired warrior felt his brow furrow in confusion as his gaze met that of the king once more. 

“You . . .” he began but he failed to form the words as the king waved him off.

“Do not think to hard on things that have never come to pass, prince.” Trunks shook his head as he grimaced and the king smiled. “Regrets? Do you wish you hadn’t saved us?”

His eyes moved back towards Prince Vegeta who was watching them with suspicion and some concern. Their gazes met and Trunks thought he understood what the other prince was trying to convey.

_ Don’t let him rile you up—don’t show weakness. _

He was about to respond to the king when he felt it . . . something inexplicable. He looked around before pinpointing the source.

The king immediately picked up on the change in Trunks. “What is it?”

“Someone is going to attack.”

“The scouters aren’t picking up anything.”

“They aren’t powering up—they’re doing something else,” he said, as his eyes scanned the room. A delegate stepped towards them and Trunks felt the energy in the room move and knew this was the assassin. Others there could not sense power levels, and so they were blind to the gathering of energy because it was outside the sentient’s body and thus undetectable by their scouters. 

The energy resembled a spirit bomb in many ways, a gathering of energy separate from the sentiet’s body. The sentient knew he’d been caught when his eyes met Trunks’.

“For Lord Frieza!” the sentient called before firing the energy bomb towards the king.

Time seemed to slow down for Trunks as he watched the glowing sphere hurdle towards King Vegeta. It was almost nothing for Trunks to step inside the line of fire and raise his hand to block the glowing mass.

He held it in place and it floated almost innocuously before his outstretched fingers. He hadn’t wanted to deflect and risk damaging the building with so many people inside so he merely stopped it and after a few seconds the energy dispersed again.

The guards surrounded the sentient, scouters beeping wildly as the sentient powered up.

“No half-breed saiyan could have defeated Lord Frieza!” he yelled before the guards managed to subdue him.

The king stepped from around his grandson and looked down his nose at the would-be assassin. “And yet here he stands while Frieza’s ashes are scattered in the wind.”

Trunks stood still beside the king as the sentient was brought forward. It did not cower or beg, but instead hurled insults towards them.

“Kill him,” the king said and when nothing immediately happened, Trunks turned and looked at the king—only to find those dark eyes on him.

“What?” he asked as he realized that those words had been directed towards him.

“You heard me, Prince,” King Vegeta said flatly. “He attempted to assassinate your king. Kill him.”

Trunks shook his head shallowly. “I—I can’t—”

“Why not?”

His lips twisted in a grimace. “I won’t just kill someone in cold-blood—”

The king cut him off. “We both know that’s not true, don’t we? We both know how much blood is already on your hands. Take no chances and give no quarter to the enemy lest they come back stronger a second time.”

Trunks felt the air in his lungs leave him. While phrased differently, it was a sentiment that he was overly familiar with. He turned back to the delegate and raised his hand. He hesitated only a second before firing off a blast that vaporized the man. His hand lowered and he sighed before turning back to the king. The older saiyan put his hand on his shoulder, nodding in acknowledgment.

“May I retire, your highness?” he asked.

The king raised a brow but nodded nonetheless. “Whatever my prince wishes, of course.”

The room was silent as Trunks walked through the crowd of wide-eyed saiyans. They parted for him, shallow bows following him in his wake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably my favorite chapter of this story, tbh.


	16. Chapter 16

The king looked over the results, his expression grave as thoughts, ideas, and suspicions swirled inside his mind. Everything he’d suspected was true . . . and it changed everything. Raditz's instincts had been spot on, it seemed, and he would amply reward the saiyan elite for fulfilling his mission so perfectly. 

Vegeta allowed a smile to show on his face. 

The human woman shared a strong mitochondrial DNA connection with Trunks . . . She was his mother and Prince Vegeta was his father. The savior of the saiyan race was the product of forbidden affair between the prince and a weak human. He tried to picture his son in such a circumstance—the bloodthirsty arrogant prince of an empire who rarely even engaged in flings. 

The destruction of the planet would have changed him, of course, but Prince Vegeta would never have lost his pride even with no people to rule over. Something about this human had drawn his attention—had convinced him to conceive a child with her.

The king stroked his beard as he thought over the future. Trunks was here, and if their conversation was anything to go by, his grandson had no expectation of his father and mother coming together in this time—no hope of his other self even being born. He’d changed his father’s fate at the cost of a child’s very existence.

Should he allow that to stand, he wondered. Should he allow his son to continue on, perhaps mate and bond with another pure saiyan? Should he acquiesce to his grandson’s desire to keep his mother away from the truth—away from Vegeta?

Perhaps if he’d never seen Trunks—seen the legend made flesh, he’d have considered it. His grandson was a fighter so powerful that Frieza had trembled at the very sight of him. What he’d not figured out was the how. The human species was especially weak. They could not even form energy blasts and yet the combination of saiyan and human DNA had created something far more powerful than either of them alone . . .

Or that was what it appeared to be on the surface.

But those eyes . . . Trunk’s green eyes had stayed with him . . . because he recognized them. The fathomless gaze of the most powerful warrior in the galaxy. 

Vegeta tapped on his comm pad and pulled up an image he’d not looked at in almost two decades. Bardock’s green gaze had been so startling that he’d not really understood what he was seeing. But now . . . Now Vegeta knew why Bardock would not allow himself to be retested—wouldn’t allow the simulations and monitors that would expose him for what he truly was. The king’s brow furrowed as he struggled to assimilate this new revelation and what it meant for their . . . relationship. 

He hit his comm. “Get me Squad Commander Raditz.”

“Yes sire.”

Twin beams of light projected from his desk and the saiyan elite’s face appeared.

“How may I serve my king?” Raditz asked.

“Are you alone?” he asked

“Yes, sire.”

The king nodded. “Good. I am pleased with your abilities and with the resolution to our dilemma.”

“Thank you my king.”

He stroked his chin. “I wish to know . . . those humans . . . exactly how weak are they?”

Raditz hesitated. “The vast majority share a powerlevel similar to a third class newborn.”

Worse than he’d expected. “The majority?”

“Yes, there are a few who can control ki. They are perhaps closer to weaker third class.”

Not the best, however even a weak third class could withstand Vegeta-sei’s gravity.

“The woman is important to Vegeta-sei’s future, however she can not withstand our gravity with so weak a power level. You have the remainder of your journey to train her in ki manipulation.”

“My king—I am no instructor—”

The king’s unimpressed expression halted the saiyan’s protest.

“You are now,” he said flatly. “Also, I’ve read over your report on her capsule technology. Our R and D division is interested in it. I am having labs set up for her for when she arrives. I will send official documentation of an initial offer for her to stay and work planetside. Convince her to accept.”

Raditz hesitated once more before inclining his head. “As my king commands.”

Vegeta said nothing as he cut the connection before leaning back. He mulled over this decision for a moment. The king was no stranger to planning things behind the scenes—and making sure everything went his way—but there were far reaching consequences for what he was about to do. 

And he could plot and scheme and ensure that everyone played their part perfectly, but in the end, either fate would step in and fill in the blanks, or nothing would come of this. 

His comm beeped. “Sire, Kaigo of the Andromeda Empire is here to speak with you,” the secretary said.

“Does he have an appointment?” the king asked, mentally laughing as he imagined the stuffy wuerle’s response to  _ that. _

“No, sire, however she is quite insistent.”

Oh, of _ that  _ he was sure. After the events of the night before—the banquet and their godly guest’s appearance . . . and what came afterwards. The banquet had gone on until the wee hours of the morning, even with the guest of honor having left early. He’d only just crawled into bed when there was a frantic knocking on his door.

The king had been prepared to blast whoever it was into the next dimension, but upon flinging the door open, he’d found half of his advisers standing outside. Before he could say anything, one of them had all but shoved a pad into his hand, the man’s face sweaty and anxious. Vegeta had realized rather quickly what had gotten them all riled up.

He only needed to read the first few pages before he’d shaken his head, dropped the pad to the ground and barked out a terse, ‘no’. He’d slammed the door and gone back to bed. No decision such as the one presented by the wuerle would be made in the middle of the night via a damn pad document.

And so the king had been expecting this meeting, but he wouldn’t display anything but indifference.

“Let him in,” he said after a moment.

Kaigo entered carrying a case and the king bit back a cough at the sight of the female wuerle. “Apologies for the assumption,” he said with a slight clearing of his throat.

She didn’t seem to care in the slightest and waved his words off, instead focusing on her task as she came to sit without invitation before his desk. “The God-King demands an explanation for this disrespect!”

Vegeta raised a brow. “I thought my reply was rather succinct, myself.”

Kaigo shook her head in aggravation. “You have been courting the wuerle and Andromeda for decades—seeking to ally with us against the arcosians. Supreme God-King has now  _ agreed _ to assist you in your war.”

The king snorted as he sat back in his chair. “Yes, for the shockingly low price of my  _ nephew.” _

The wuerle gave away nothing in her expression. “The God-King does not seek to  _ buy _ Prince Trunks, however your nephew indicated that he would only be open to leaving Vegeta-sei after all threats to the planet were eliminated. The God-King has little interest in the spats of your galaxy, however he is willing to put forth the troops and ships necessary to crush the arcosians  _ for _ you.”

The king grimaced. When Trunks had said that the God-King wanted to know if Trunks was staying to protect Vegeta-sei, he’d taken it as a possible threat. It had never even crossed his mind that Jiren was asking in order to gauge what provisions would need to be made in order to secure the saiyan prince as a husband.

Not until he’d read the declaration of intent on that pad.

Vegeta shrugged. “Prince Trunks has just arrived back on the planet. I am disinclined to marry him off when his feet have barely touched the ground.”

“Supreme God-King would be a powerful ally to you,” she said, once more trying to reason with him.

The king understood her disbelief. Had the weurle come to him only a day ago and requested any saiyan on the planet, he’d have gift-wrapped the man or woman and presented them on a silver platter. 

But this was Trunks, his grandson that—for now—was trusting him to have his best interests in mind. 

The king shrugged as he answered her in a lazy tone. “One we need less and less as the days go by. Our prince was strong enough to vaporize  _ Frieza.” _

She crossed her arms. “Cooler is far more powerful.”

Vegeta tilted his head, unconcerned. “I have complete faith in my nephew’s abilities. Though I do not understand why it is that Prince Trunks has caught his attention. To my knowledge, the God-King has never had any inclination to mingle with saiyans before. He declined all offers from my subjects during his last visit.”

“Supreme God-King is . . . not attracted to  _ worldly _ flesh.”

“Ah . . . I see. It is Trunks’ power that draws him.”

“Precisely. The God-King acknowledges that taking the prince from this planet would necessarily leave it unprotected from the arcosians, however he is willing to install several squads of wuerle warriors and offer up several  _ dozen _ of our zesho-class battle-cruisers towards the protection of the saiyan homeworld.

“I’m afraid my answer is the same as it was last night.”

The wuerle’s face flattened. “King Vegeta, I assume that you do not wish to make an enemy of Andromeda. However strong your nephew is, he can not hope to equal the God-King’s power—”

Vegeta laughed, cutting the woman off. “Your threats are empty. Your  _ God-King _ does not engage in wars outside his domain, remember? He is so powerful and yet he’s allowed the arcosians to run wild through my galaxy with nary a sideways glance. No, he sat up on his throne ruling over the Andromeda galaxy while this galaxy was crushed under that lizard’s boot.”

“How this galaxy chooses to conduct its peoples is none of the God-King’s affair—”

The king slammed his fist down onto the desk, cutting the woman off. “And yet now he wishes to form a union with my nephew—the one person who finally tipped the balance of power away from the arcosians. It does make one wonder if Jiren is perhaps in league with them. What guarantee do I have that this isn’t some trick to remove Prince Trunks and leave us defenseless?”

Her eyes narrowed. “If that is your only concern, then we will agree to defeat the arcosians _first_ so long as we have both yours and Prince Trunks’ sworn promise that the union will occur promptly following.”

The king was tempted. Without the arcosians, there would be no one left to stand against the Saiyan Empire. The Milky Way would be completely under his rule, cemented with the power of the super saiyan—more than one if his son ever got his act together.

And if Prince Vegeta did succeed in ascending . . . if the human woman caught his attention . . . then he had little need for Trunks to remain on the planet forever. The God-King seemed quite enamored with the half-breed prince—a circumstance that could only help the Saiyan Empire.  But even as these thoughts flickered through his mind, the sight of Trunks’ body—the clear physical and mental abuse he’d suffered all his life and the lengths he’d gone to just to save the planet not once but twice . . .

He let nothing show on his face as these thoughts flitted through his mind in a snapshot. 

“The answer is ‘no’,” he said after a moment. “Prince Trunks will remain here until he decides otherwise. If the God-King wants him so badly, then he can convince my nephew of it himself.”

The liaison balked at him. “The God-King is a busy man. He can not simply remain here to woo a prince.”

“Then I suppose this discussion is over.”

The sentient let out an agitated breath before standing up. “Just know,” she said. “That you were given an opportunity to benefit from this union.”

The king waved her away dismissively, his expression flat even as internally he felt his blood run cold. As soon as the liaison was well away from the office, he called his secretary.

“Cancel my next two appointments and get Prince Trunks in here  _ now.” _

The secretary nodded and Vegeta expected him to run off, but he man stayed put for a second longer.

“What is it, now?” he asked.

“Squad-commander Raditz has been in contact with one of the elites on the planet—Zushin of House Saledey. He was asking questions about Bardock.”

“How long before the Protector returns to Vegeta-sei?”

“Approximately seventy-six days, sire.”

The king waved the secretary away before leaning back and stroking his beard. Raditz and Trunks had some kind of relationship, if not romantic than at least physical. Vegeta would normally never allow a former third-class anywhere near his heirs, however this was Bardock’s eldest.

Vegeta was also counting on Raditz to act as one more tether to hold the half-breed on the planet, but he couldn’t allow the squad commander to raise a stink about his father, either. Trunks was still unaware of Bardock—unaware of everything Bardock had apparently done to protect he and Kakarot.

The king wished to keep it that way. Trunks was still wary enough as was.

There was a knock on the door before he hit the lock release and it slid open.

“You called for me?”

“Sit down, Trunks.”

The young man blinked in confusion but did as requested and sat in the very seat that was occupied only minutes ago by the liaison.

“I’ve just finished a conversation with one of weurle.”

“Jiren’s people?”

The king raised a brow. “You know his  _ name?” _

His grandson shrugged. “He asked that I call him that after I told him to call me Trunks.”

Clearly one of the things he’d have the tutors cover was the power of names—the power you gave to someone when you allowed them to use your name. The power Trunks had gifted to the God-King and the power the God-King had gifted in return. There was a level of intimacy implied when one used a name . . . a level the God-King felt entitled to.

“It appears you talked about more than just your plans to stay on planet last night,” he said with a curious tilt of his head.

The half-breed flushed. “I mean, it wasn’t much more than that. He wanted to know how strong I was . . .”

Vegeta eyed his grandson. “Is that all?”

“Yes?” Trunks said, though it came out as more of a question which did little alleviate the king’s concerns.

“Well, whatever you spoke of . . . it was enough to draw his attention and now he is . . . interested in you.”

“In fighting me?”

_ Hardly. _

“Last night, I received official documents requesting a union.”

Trunks’ mouth opened and closed several times. “Uni . . . what?”

“The God-King is unmarried—not even a concubine if my sources are to be believed. He has offered you the title of Grand Prince Consort. You would be his official spouse—”

“No!” the word came out with a slightly hysterical edge to it that the king wouldn’t have credited Trunks being even capable of.

“You faced down Frieza without fear, but the idea of marriage has you so flustered.” Trunks sent him a withering look and the king decided to stop teasing the young man. “I declined the offer last night on your behalf.” The half-breed seemed to almost sag in relief which had the king shaking his head in exasperation before speaking again. 

“However, a representative of his was here a few moments ago and after that conversation, I believe you should stay in the palace until the weurle leave.”

Trunks’ brow furrowed suspiciously. “Is something wrong?”

He sat back and stroked his beard contemplatively. “The God-King is ruler over an entire galaxy—a feat not even Frieza managed to accomplish. He is old and incredibly powerful. He has been catered to for nearly the entirety of his life since he took over the Andromeda Galaxy.” Trunks grimaced as the king continued. “He is used to getting anything he desires, and for now, his eyes are set upon you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Of that, I have little doubt, but there are people whose sole vocation is the impairment of powerful warriors. They may not be physically strong, but they are able to utilize subterfuge and if the opportunity presents itself, one of his people may act.”

Trunks immediately balked. “They would just try and kidnap me? He doesn’t seem the type.”

The king shook his head. “Whether he condones it or not is irrelevant. Those people worship him and his power—they will do anything, even at the cost of their lives to make him happy.”

Trunks stared at him for a long moment before sighing. “I understand.”

“It’s only for a few days.”

 

* * *

  
  


Trunks exited the king’s study and walked slowly through the halls of the palace. He still wasn’t used to the cape swishing around his ankles or the tail wound around his waist, but they were the least of his concerns at the moment.

Jiren wanted to marry him?

It made no sense. Why would the weurle decide something like that after a single conversation? Perhaps marriage didn’t mean as much to his people as it did to others. The king had said that Jiren was old . . . maybe he just married people occasionally and outlived them and then moved on to the next. It was a strange idea, but then repeated marriage was common enough on Earth, so it was possible, he supposed. 

He began making his way back towards his chambers when a voice called out to him.

“Prince Trunks.”

The lavender-haired warrior's head snapped to the side as he took in the shadowed weurle. It wasn’t Jiren, but a female instead. She was taller than he and looked almost emaciated, she was so thin, but her power level was high enough that he raised a brow.

“This is the royal wing,” he said. “Outsiders are not permitted without authorization from the king.”

“How do you know that I do not possess such permission?” she asked with a tilt of her her bald head.

After the conversation, he’d just had with the king? “I  _ know,”  _ he said confidently.

She shrugged and moved forward, the light from a nearby window hitting her and only seeming to make the sharp angles of her body more pronounced.

She blinked her large dark eyes at him. “I am Kaigo, the God-King’s adviser.”

Trunks sighed. “My uncle has already given you an answer. I’m not interested in leaving Vegeta-sei.”

Her placid expression didn’t change. “The God-King feels that you were not given a fair chance to accept him. He approached King Vegeta out of respect for him, but your uncle is not the person who should have the final say in such a decisions.”

“The king and I are of like minds.”

“You can not seriously mean to turn down the God-King,” she said, her face and voice clearly confused.

Trunks sucked his teeth in irritation. “Lady Kaigo, I’m not interested in Jiren—or his court—or his galaxy. God-King or not, I won’t be leaving this galaxy any time soon.”

“Your Highness, you must know that the God-King is a . . . complex individual, however he is also very simple in many ways. He has never expressed more than a passing interest in anyone before, let alone sought out a permanent attachment—”

“Which makes zero sense, by the way,” he said as he mentally threw out the serial monogamist theory. “Jiren and I have shared one conversation.  _ One. _ Marriage isn’t something that can possibly decided after knowing someone for five minutes. ”

“And yet many marriages—especially those involving powerful empires—are built on less.”

He snorted. “Mine isn't.”

She was quiet for a moment and he was about to turn away when she finally spoke again. “The God-King sensed your . . . weariness—your desire to let go of your power,” she said quietly. “You would only be able to do so if you have someone else you could rely on. Someone who could shoulder your burden, even if only for a short while. There is no one in this galaxy like that—no one who will understand you and help you like he can. He truly desires only to fulfill your wish.”

Trunks felt all color drain from his face and the air left his lungs. Jiren had sensed that? It was a weakness that Trunks wished he could eradicate. He had spent years desperately wishing he could be like his father or Goku—focused on little else but strength and power. It was why they were able to defeat their enemies while Trunks failed again and again. 

But no more. He’d pushed aside the human desire for love—for a life beyond battle and he was stronger for it. He was the most powerful thing in the galaxy and he would protect the people that were important to him.

He suddenly felt angry. Who was Jiren to come to his planet and tell him to let go of everything he’d worked so hard to achieve? The God-King felt he was somehow stronger than Trunks? He thought he could take the pressure of so many lives from him and Trunks would just sit back and drink mai tais or something?

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of my planet and my people,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t need someone to come and save me from myself and sure as hell don’t need any God-King to  _ take care of me.” _

“That’s not what I meant,” she began, but Trunks was already stepping through the door into his quarters. “Prince Trun—”

The door shut behind him, silencing her words and he cracked his neck from side to side in exhaustion. He wished Raditz was here, but then perhaps it was best not to give Jiren anything else to use against him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, classes have officially started for me so I won't be able to update most every day like I have been but there will be at least one chapter a week(hopefully two).
> 
> In this story Jiren is one of my favorite characters as he pops up from time to time and I messed around with his backstory so it wasn't as lame as the show's batman ripoff thing. I still took elements of it, but I changed it up. There are clues about it in this chapter, but we won't hear outright about it for a while, but he is fun to write--so fun that I actually started writing an AU of this AU where Jiren found Trunks first lol. I don't think that will ever be posted but it's fun to imagine. ;P


	17. Chapter 17

####  **_The Protector_ **

The comm chimed in Bulma’s lab and she absently hit the door lock. There was only one person who bothered with her on the ship, anyway. He said nothing, clearly seeing her thoroughly engrossed in her work as she carefully set the last piece in place for the upgraded gravity control bracelet.

She sat back after securing the housing in place and looking the thing over critically. She would have to wait to test it until she could withstand the gravity of Vegeta-sei sans the bulky saiyan versions.

“You’ve completed it?” he asked and she finally turned around to face the saiyan.

The blue-haired woman tossed the bracelet towards him and he caught it easily. She watched as he examined the thin bangle and thought he might be one of the few saiyans that could actually appreciate the technology behind it.

“I can’t test it quite yet,” she said, fingering the heavier bracelets she currently wore. “But I think it’s good.”

He nodded. “Impressive. This only took you a month and you did it with just the lab you brought with you.”

She shrugged. Truthfully, she’d done better with less.

Bulma eyed the sweat currently beaded over his forehead. “Training still going alright?”

Raditz cracked his neck from side to side,the sound piercing the air like a shot. “I assume you can feel the difference,” he said, only slightly arrogantly.

“It’s noticeable,” she said simply, though she wondered what such technology would mean to all of the saiyans. They were all already so monstrously powerful and now to compound that power with a training aide like the gravity chambers. “Getting as much training in as you can, huh?” she asked after a moment.

Bulma had spoken to King Vegeta only once since boarding the ship and he’d told her not to allow any of the saiyans aboard to use the chambers—ostensibly so they could be fully tested once back on Vegeta-sei, but she was aware that powerful people tended to hoard things that could potentially change the status quo.

She knew because she was a powerful person—back on Earth anyway.

Bulma felt very small out here in the dark of space on this ship surrounded by people that looked at her like she was something foul.

“Don’t take it personally,” Raditz had said on the first day. “It’s just that to a saiyan . . . you’re really ugly.”

“What?” she’d asked, offended.

“That blue hair of yours and your lack of physical muscle—not to mention your almost non-existent power-level . . . it’s really not what any saiyan would find attractive.”

“Ya’ll are that xenophobic?”

“What?  _ No! _ Not like—look, Trunks is now well known by all saiyans—as is the fact that he is a half-breed. One of his parents is human—like you. They don’t know what to think about a saiyan somehow finding one of your kind attractive enough to  _ breed _ with you.”

“Br—Breed? Jesus. We aren’t fucking cows, you know!”

“What I’m trying to say is that to a saiyan . . . you might as well be.”

So that was a thing. 

Raditz hadn’t been able to really explain the situation well to her, but she’d since done enough research on saiyan culture to realize that truly, it  _ was _ nothing personal—not when saiyans used genetics labs to create offspring and all but shunned physical procreation.

They simply didn’t understand a saiyan choosing to conceive a child outside their race when one could just order up a baby like cheeseburger at a fast food drive through. It was something of a culture shock moment for her.

None of the other saiyans were outright rude to her—probably because Raditz was always escorting her around the ship if for some reason she needed to be anywhere but her quarters or the cargo bay she’d procured to house her capsule lab.

She looked down at the heavy ki-based bracelets that protected her from the artificial gravity of the ship. They were a different technology from the ones she’s just made and required a larger battery-like component that made them more than a little clunky. They clearly weren't meant for long term use and as a scientist, they’d made things somewhat difficult for her.

“Have you been meditating and focusing your energy?” he asked.

Bulma looked up and nodded. She held her hands together in a cupping motion and concentrated. After a few seconds, a tiny speck of light appeared and she smiled in satisfaction. It was little better than a spark, but it was more than she’d ever thought herself capable of.

“I’ve got the bracelets up to two thirds of Vegeta-sei’s gravity,” she said with no small amount of satisfaction.

He nodded. “That’s good.”

She’d just bet it was considering the contract the king had finally sent her. She’d forwarded it back to Earth for her people to look over, but one caveat had immediately caught her attention.

“So you’ve been teaching me this because the king expects me to hang around the planet long-term?” she asked as she crossed her arms.

Raditz blinked at her, his face taking on something slightly uncomfortable. “I’ve not been made privy to the king’s inten—”

Bulma rolled her eyes a she cut him off with a derisive snort. “Oh come off it, Raditz. I can smell bullshit a mile away, and don’t think I don’t know that you’ve been spilling your guts to the saiyans about everything that happened on Earth. How else would the contract be so damn specific about the type of tech they’re looking for?”

Not a single trace of guilt crossed Raditz's face. “I am a saiyan, Bulma. My loyalty will always be the  _ Saiyan _ Empire.”

“I get that but Trunks is your friend—more than your friend,” she added meaningfully. “Did you talk about him too?”

The saiyan was suspiciously silent, but she could see that his words had affected him. 

“Have you talked  _ to _ him?” she asked quietly.

The saiyan warrior sighed. “No, and he hasn’t contacted me, either.”

Bulma also hadn’t heard from Trunks and as an unvetted alien scientist, she hadn’t been given ‘clearance’ to speak to the youngest prince of the Saiyan Empire. He was her best friend, but that apparently didn’t carry any weight with the saiyans.

She got the feeling that he didn’t know she was coming and perhaps that's why Raditz was holding off as well. Bulma wanted to say more, but she wasn’t about it insert herself into whatever was going on between the two men. They would figure it out for themselves or end it entirely. She liked Raditz, but she wasn’t sure how much she trusted him. Was he a convenient spy for the king about Trunks and now about Earth?

She couldn’t be sure. He seemed sincere, but then, good liars usually did.

“I’ve looked over the contract, but it will take a few months for my people to thoroughly sift through all the legal jargon. I’m inclined to accept the terms as I understand them, however there will be a significant delay before I can begin retrofitting the ships with capsule tech—”

“What kind of delay?” he asked abruptly.

Both brows rose up as she spoke. “The kind that involves me going back to Earth and gathering the personnel and tech needed to complete the orders.”

Raditz shook his head. “There is no need for you to return to Earth. The king has already begun preparing lab spaces for you in the research and development offices. You will have every resource made available to you.”

That was suspicious in and of itself. “As far as I know, your war with the arcosians has taken a turn for the better for the saiyans. Why the urgency to begin the retrofit?”

“It is less about the retrofit and more about establishing you on Vegeta-sei as soon as possible. The retrofit is the most showy of the Capsule tech—something he can use to justify the expense of a trade agreement with Capsule Corp. But the king is not only interested in capsule technology. He is interested in things like this,” he said as he held up the bracelet. It looked so small in his gargantuan hands. “Things like this and your gravity chambers—and the 3D print technology are all of great interest to the king. The saiyans have not always been concerned with such things but King Vegeta wishes to bring the Saiyan Empire into the forefront of technology and learning in the galaxy. He believes that Capsule Corp will be a great pillar in the grand structure he is building.”

Her lips pursed she contemplated so grand a sentiment. “What you’re asking—if I’m the only one there, it could take months, maybe even years to integrate capsule micro-technology into saiyan ships. The technologies are completely different.”

Raditz inclined his head “You will have help. Some of the greatest minds in the galaxy will be made available to assist you.”

Bulma thought over the ramifications of remaining on Vegeta-sei indefinitely. There were many things to consider. The benefits to Capsule Corp—the opportunity to interact with alien species and learn about the galaxy outside of Earth.

There was also her personal life. She didn’t have one outside of her friends in the Z gang—and even that was slowly falling apart after her break-up with Yamucha and now with Trunks disappearing off to an unknown planet.

Perhaps she could think of this as a vacation of a sorts. Her already abysmal love life would entirely evaporate, but that long ago dream for the perfect boyfriend was just that: a dream. There was no perfect boyfriend because no one was capable of perfection.

She sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

  
  
  


####  **_Vegeta-sei_ **

 

Trunks had deliberately cut himself off from his ability to sense ki while sparing with these saiyans. They did not have the benefit of sensing him so he tried his best to equalize the scenario even though there was no equality in their power levels. It was a mistake, he realized far too late, when the two saiyan elites froze, their eyes riveted on something behind him.

“I wish to know why my offer was declined.”

Trunks felt the muscles in his back seize up before he sighed and turned around. Jiren stood there only a few meters from him—far too close for someone so powerful. The other saiyans seemed to disappear with a speed they’d not displayed while fighting. He would be beating them into the ground later for leaving him alone with Jiren. 

_ How had the wuerle even gotten in here? _ he wondered for only a second before he spotted the unconscious guard by the door.  _ Oh, _ he thought.

“I’m not interested in marriage,” he said, using a towel to begin wiping the sweat from his body.

The grey sentient’s head tilted to the side. “In the institution itself, or with me specifically?”

“Neither—both,” he said before shaking his head. “I see no reason to marry you  _ or _ anyone else.”

Jiren moved closer to him. “My sources tell me that you engaged in sexual behavior with another male saiyan before returning to Vegeta-sei.”

Trunks let out an uncomfortable cough as he choked on air. “What?” he sputtered out. “How do you know that?”

The God-King didn’t seem put off by his tone. “You should know how acute the saiyan sense of smell is. Several of them could  _ smell _ the male on you even after you arrived.”

Trunks felt his face flush but he shook his head. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with you.”

Jiren’s face was impassive. “I thought at first that you’d declined my offer because you did not find the male form pleasing or that perhaps you did not think I would make an adequate sexual partner.”

Holy shit, was he really having this conversation, right now?

“I want to assure you,” Jiren continued. “That I am well versed in offering sexual pleasure with several species and that wuerle anatomy is similar enough to saiyans that—”

“Please stop!” Trunks said as he held up both hands.

Jiren finally blinked those massive eyes of his, expression seemingly lost. The king had said that nothing had ever been outside of the God-King’s reach, and Trunks was starting to believe that. 

Trunks grimaced. “Look. You seem like a nice enough person, but I’m not interested in leaving my galaxy at the moment—”

“But you might one day?” Jiren asked sharply. “After the arcosian threat is eliminated?”

“I . . . I don’t know . . . And besides, if it isn’t the arcosians, then it’ll be something else.”

_ Something like a green-skinned little monster with a god complex, _ he thought acidly.

“Is there nothing I can do to convince you?” the God-King asked in something almost like sorrow.

Trunks firmly stood his ground. “Probably not.”

Jiren’s nostrils flared out as he took a step forward. He reached out towards Trunks and the half-breed allowed the movement, fighting every instrict that told him to slap the hand away.

Jiren’s gloved fingers touched Trunks’ skin and his voice became soft. “You have no idea how rare it is . . . to find someone who can stand  _ with _ me, but has no designs on my position or power.”

Trunks ignored the strange buzzing at the edge of his mind as that finger moved over the skin of his jaw. “The universe is a big place,” he said simply.

The weurle’s lips thinned. “Its gets smaller and smaller as the decades pass.”

There was a sadness to Jiren—a weariness that Trunks understood because he too felt it. Had things been different, perhaps he’d have taken the God-King up on his offer. But he couldn’t afford to leave the epicenter of conflict. Zamasu could still crawl out of the woodwork, and there was another . . . 

He shook away the thoughts. Whoever it was, they were barely more than a glimmer in galaxy further away than even Andromeda.

“You’ve felt it as well?” Jiren asked as his hand dropped from the prince’s face.

Trunks looked up again. He didn’t pretend ignorance. “I’ve felt it the last few years, but it’s like a fire that flares up before burning out. It’s too far for me to really pinpoint it.”

“At first, I thought perhaps it was you,” Jiren said with a shallow tilt of his head.

“No . . . I don’t know what it is, but it’s incredibly powerful.”

“More so than you?” the weurle asked.

Trunks hesitated before answering. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

The God-King raised a hairless brow. “There is more to you—power beyond this base super saiyan.”

Trunks hesitated but he reached out, his fingers extended towards the sentient. 

Jiren looked at him for a few seconds before hesitantly removing one of his gloves and reaching out as well. Their hands touched and Trunks closed his eyes. He heard Jiren gasp as he allowed his power to flow into the other man. Jiren’s ki signature would mask his own from the saiyans and their scouters.

He also felt more than a simple transference from the God-King. He felt like an electric shock had run through his body and he gasped as the sensations settled into his limbs . . . into his chest and his ind. It filled him up in a way he’d never felt before.

“You . . . Your power is familiar to me . . . like that of . . .”

Trunks’ eyes snapped open—he hadn’t even realized they’d fallen shut—and he pulled away before the wuerle could finish the sentence. Jiren looked down at him, his hand still hanging in the air. There was a look on his face that made Trunks swallow uncomfortably.

“You’re hiding so very much from them—from everyone here,” The God-King said as he pulled off the other glove and dropped it to the ground. “Come with me to Andromeda. You can unleash your great strength without fear.”

Trunks didn’t like where this was going. “It’s not the saiyans that I’m hiding from.”

Jiren was silent as he stepped even closer and Trunks fought the urge to move away. He would not run away from the God-King like a flushed-out rabbit! The weurle raised both hands but before Trunks could stop him, there were long grey fingers cupping his face and throat. 

That . . . that feeling returned, filling up every void that festered inside him and overflowing with things—dreams—he’d never seen before. He swallowed hard as his eyes met the glowing galaxies in Jiren’s eyes.

“You’re a god among all the creatures of this galaxy. Why should you hide?” Jiren asked quietly.

It took ever shred of willpower he possessed to even string together an answer. “Because there are things beyond this galaxy—things parallel to us.”

“You speak of the kais and the destroyers,” Jiren said thoughtfully. “You don’t wish to draw their attention.”

“Terrible things would happen,” Trunks whispered.

Jiren leaned down and his forehead touched Trunks’. “When you are done hiding. Come find me at my court.”

With that Jiren pulled away and Trunks was left feeling bereft. He did take a step back then. Jiren’s race . . .  _ they were some kind of touch-telepth, _ he thought. Would have been nice to know about that before offering up his damn hand. He grimaced, but he couldn’t hold onto any anger. Jiren was . . . he was something else.

“If the opportunity arises,” Trunks said slowly. “I’ll . . . I’ll think about it, uh Jiren.”

The wuerle smiled, and with his big eyes, he looked almost . . . cute.

Trunks swallowed but said nothing else as Jiren turned and walked away. His attention was squarely on the weurle until he realized that someone else had approached the training yard. The lavender-haired warrior’s breath caught in his throat as the God-King passed the older saiyan prince by with nary a glance or any effort towards a polite greeting. 

Vegeta said nothing, of course—not to Jiren, anyway, but the way his livid gaze turned back to Trunks spoke volumes about oncoming argument.

Trunks sighed as the other prince stalked up to him. “You let that grey slug touch you?”

The half-breed rolled his eyes. “We just were talking.”

“It didn’t appear that way to me. If you are that enamored with the God-King, you should just go to Andromeda with him,” the prince said dismissively.

“I’m not ‘enamored’ with him and I’m  _ not _ going to Andromeda.”

Vegeta’s lip curled in disgust. “Then you should be more cautious of the God-King.”

King Vegeta had said the same, but Trunks had been able to feel the flow of emotions from Jiren and while there was a thread of barely restrained violence, there was also a peacefulness that he hadn’t expected . . . a tranquility that came with having seen everything.

“He wouldn’t just take me—” Trunks began, only to be cut off.

“The hell he wouldn’t! If you were somehow incapacitated and with the kind of power he has, he can do anything— _ take _ anything—he wants and no one could lift a finger to stop him.”

Trunks looked away from the other prince. There was something in those words that halted any knee-jerk response . . . a pain that radiated from somewhere that Vegeta had buried inside him.

“Jiren isn’t Frieza,” he said. “He’s not—not like that.”

Vegeta shook his head. “When it comes to power,  _ everyone _ is like that.”

Trunks met the other saiyan’s gaze. “Even me?”

The dark haired man tilted his head. “Perhaps one day.”

“And you?”

“Definitely one day.”

Trunks shuddered. He’d heard stories of how evil his father had been in the years prior to settling down on Earth. He remembered how Vegeta had been during the fight with the androids before something had irrevocably shifted in the older saiyan.

“Show it to me,” the prince said

Trunks felt his brow furrow. “What?”

“The legend. You’ve hidden it since destroying Frieza. I will see it once more.”

“Why?”

Vegeta sneered. “Why are you hiding it? Why are you trying to keep anyone for seeing it? Afraid you won’t be the only one?”

“Who says I’m the only one?” Trunks asked flippantly.

The older prince’s eyes widened before he let out a low growl. “Only royals can ascend! We have the blood of the Great Ancestor running through our veins.”

“Blood doesn’t matter,” he said with a snort.

“You should choose your words more carefully, half-breed.”

Trunks shook his head. “What does it matter? You know who I am. You know that I . . .”

He didn’t finish, but it wasn’t needed apparently as Vegeta spoke up. “I know you won’t even power up past that of a super elite, and others may forget what you are—they may think you some benign thing, but I know better so show it to me, boy,” the prince said. “Show me the legend.”

“That’s really not necessary—”

“Do not patronize me, you little bastard!” the prince growled out.

Trunks felt the skin beneath his eye twitch and couldn't help crossing his arm. “You really want to go into a regen tank that badly?” he asked.

Vegeta fired off an energy blast Trunks didn’t bother deflecting or blocking. It exploded, and while the average saiyan would have been obliterated, it barely mussed Trunks’ hair.

“I must see it again,” the prince ground out.

Trunks grimace, but nodded. He closed his eyes as his chin dropped down before he looked back up towards the sky. He felt the golden energy of his first form envelope him like a comfortable coat. The hair that wasn’t tied back swept up from his face. This had always been the most relaxed transformation. Oh, he could draw it out like within seconds, but sometimes putting on a show had as much impact on a fight as any physical blow.

His eyes slid open once more and he saw Vegeta watching him with a strange expression. Fear warred with pride, along with a generous serving of anger. He’d seen the pride and anger, but the fear was a new one.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked.

The prince let out a roar as he powered up and launched himself towards the golden-haired warrior. They traded blows in mid-air—well Trunks blocked every punch and kick easily which only made Vegeta even more angry as he screamed his fury.

The few saiyans—mostly servants—allowed near the royal training yard had stopped their duties to watch the fight, but Trunks paid them little attention. Actually, his thoughts began to wander the longer it wore on. He hadn’t spoken to Raditz since he’d left, but he knew the saiyan was on his way back to the planet. He felt cowardly for not trying to contact his pseudo-lover, but he also didn’t know what he’d say. He’d stayed despite swearing up and down that he wouldn’t. He’d tried locating Raditz’s ki signature but the ship the saiyan was on was going too fast for Trunks to lock on much less safely go to him.

“You’re not even paying attention!”

Trunks was shaken from his thoughts as the prince threw a particularly powerful punch. 

One that landed. 

Trunks’ head snapped back and instinctively he lashed out and back handed Vegeta across the face. The prince went sailing from the blow, landing hard on the ground and cratering the training yard. His eyes were wide as he looked down at where Vegeta laid partially covered in debris. The prince wasn’t moving, but his power level was steady. Trunks tried to muster up some regret for hitting Vegeta like that, but he knew the saiyan wouldn’t appreciate it. 

The lavender-haired warrior dropped to the ground, landing with a soft thud. He looked back over at the crater, fighting his first instinct to help the prince. But like the regret, he knew Vegeta would hate it.

So he walked away.

He left the area, watching as a few servants scurried over the help the prince. The rest bowed in deference, their eyes averted as he passed. 

“We aren’t finished yet!”

Trunks halted and turned back around. Vegeta was up, it seemed, pushing away one of the servants even as he staggered to his feet.

“Perhaps I’m not,” Trunks said, his chin raising. “But you are. You can barely stay on your feet, Vegeta.”

The prince growled and took a step forward, his hand clutching his shoulder. He must have landed on it.

“I must become a super saiyan!” he howled.

Trunks tilted his head. “You don’t become a super saiyan just because you want to.”

The prince hobbled over, his face already bruising from the blow, but his eyes were determined. He got within a few feet of Trunks and usually they were close to eye level, but Vegeta was slightly hunched because of his injury so he had to look up to meet Trunks’ gaze.

“Tell me how to do it—how  _ you _ did it.”

Gohan’s lifeless body flashed through his mind—his friend and mentor laying face down in a muddy puddle, left like garbage in the ruins of a once great city. 

“I would trade it to get back what I lost,” he whispered.

The prince’s eyes narrowed. Trunks could see the internal struggle within Vegeta. He wanted to know the secret of the legendary, but he also resisted forming any kind of emotional attachment with Trunks. He’d avoided speaking to the lavender-haired warrior for more than a few minutes—usually at formal functions, and certainly their never spoke of anything of actual depth.

“I want none of your weakling sob stories, half-breed,” he said at last. “You’ve experienced loss.  _ So what? _ All saiyans experience it. We fight and we die in glorious combat.”

Trunks snorted. “You’ve experienced nothing of the kind, prince. You don’t care about anything so you’ve  _ never lost _ anything.”

He turned and began walking away again. Trunks made it as far as the massive bathing chamber that served as a changing room as well. He was pulling off the training armor when Vegeta finally made it in. 

“Our conversation isn’t finished.”

The half-breed turned around and was about to respond, but he noticed that the prince was not really paying attention. Like Raditz and the king, his eyes were on Trunks’ chest. 

His scars.

The expression on Vegeta’s face was so like that of his father’s from the other timeline. They’d been in the hyperbolic time chamber and he’d gone to bathe. He’d seen his father’s skin—his own scarring from the decades of abuse that he’d endured. They’d stared at one another’s body for a long moment. Not in a sexual way, but in understanding of the other’s suffering. The king had repeatedly offered to have them healed, but he’d never taken the man up on it.

“How are you still alive?”

The words seemed to have come out without Vegeta’s permission, because the man’s mouth immediately closed and there was a faint flush to his cheeks as he ground his teeth.

“If I died, so did everyone else.”

Vegeta’s gaze left his chest and returned to Trunks’ face. “But they did anyway, right? You said the entire universe was erased.”

Trunks pulled the under-suit on and fastened it closed. “If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there's always someone stronger than you. Every time I fought, got stronger, pushed past my limits and won, someone else came later and I wasn’t strong enough. The cycle repeated itself again and again, but in the end you’re right . . . my universe is gone.”

“Why did you come here?” The prince asked after a moment.

“He was going to destroy this planet—”

“But he already had, hadn’t he? In your time? This planet was dust long before you were even born.”

Trunks swallowed. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“You said that your universe was erased by that other creature, but you could have gone anywhere—any time or place you desired, but you came  _ here _ and stopped Frieza from killing us all. I understand why you would stop the other warriors from stepping into the light, but . . .”

Trunks took a steadying breath. “My father died when I was still an infant. I never knew him or the man he could have been. I only have my mother’s stories about him. She . . . she loved him dearly, but she knew the kind of man he was.”

“What kind of man was that?”

He looked up and met Vegeta’s gaze. “One who had been consumed by pain, anger, and jealousy.”

Prince Vegeta eyed him in silence for a moment before speaking again. “If you never knew him, why would you come here?”

“The pain I felt after I lost everything . . . It haunts me still. For me, it’s been years since it happened, but I still think about it every day. Someone told me that the agony I felt . . . that he felt it too when Vegeta-sei was destroyed, but while I had at least some control of my future, he suffered under Frieza’s rule for decades.”

“If your universe was destroyed then who told you that?”

“An angel.”

“Feh,” Vegeta said with a roll of his eyes, clearly not believing his words. “So you came here and you stopped it from happening, and then disappeared.”

Trunks shook his head. “I shouldn’t even be on this planet. I never intended to do this.”

The older prince glared at him. “But you’re here now. You’re a prince of this planet and your power is known throughout the galaxy—hell two galaxies now that Andromeda’s God-King is so obsessed with you.”

“I think that’s a bit of an overstatement. Jiren is . . . I think he just wants a friend.”

Vegeta actually rolled his eyes. “He’s the fucking  _ God-King _ and he has you calling him  _ Jiren. _ His people were going around questioning the servants about you and your . . . preferences. I’d say he wants more than friendship with you.”

Trunks flushed. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m not interested in Jiren—like that.”

The other saiyan snorted. “Because you’re already fucking Raditz? _ The God-King _ is offering you an entire galaxy on a silver platter and you’re declining his offer because of what? A casual fuck with a former third-class?”

The lavender-haired warrior sighed. “I’m not talking to you about this.”

“Unless it isn’t casual.”

He looked up and saw the prince’s considering expression. Gears were turning behind those dark eyes. “Just how serious are you about Raditz?” the prince asked.

“That really isn’t any of your business, Vegeta.”

“It is when succession for the throne is already being tossed about by the nobles.”

Trunks tried to keep the bitterness from his response. “I’m a half-breed—hardly saiyan heir material,” he said, looking away. 

“Respect is earned through power, boy,” Vegeta said crossing his arms. “Heirs are chosen based on that power. As of now . . . you are the stronger of the two of us—and that makes both our positions unstable.”

“I don’t want your throne, Vegeta. I didn’t come here for that.”

“Perhaps not, but what made you stay here—and don’t tell me my hollow words on that first day engendered such loyalty in you.”

“I think here . . . I won’t be alone.”

The prince was quiet for a long moment before speaking again. “The one you lost—the one that made you this way . . . he was a warrior as well?”

Trunks hesitated, but eventually answered. “He was my mentor . . . my friend.”

“His death drove you crazy,” Vegeta said.

“You could say that.”

“Is that it? Is that how you do it?”

He could see the confusion within Vegeta and he shook his head as he remembered Gohan’s words to him. “As you are now . . . it would be hard for you. That power . . . it comes in response to a need—a need to give  _ everything _ in service to a cause greater than just yourself.”

Vegeta’s brow furrowed as he struggled to understand such a foreign concept. “So you’re saying that I need this ‘cause’. I need something that means more to me than my own power.”

“Yes, and like I said. I don’t think you could do that as you are.”

Trunks pulled his cape over his shoulders and clasped it in place before turning and walking away. He was nearly at the door when the prince spoke again.

“Tell me who your mother is, boy.”

Trunks froze, eyes wide as the air left his lungs. “It doesn’t matter,” he said after a moment.

Vegeta stalked up behind him, pulling at him until he turned back around. “She mattered enough that I thought her worthy to bear me a son.”

Trunks thought back to the last he’d seen of the other Bulma and Vegeta. She’d been pregnant with their second child.

“It was never like that, Vegeta. I was an accident.”

“Hardly.”

That brought his up short. “What?”

The prince gave him a condescending look. “Saiyans can control their own fertility. It’s why most children are created in labs these days. No one wishes to carry—or be responsible for—unwanted brats. You were born because  _ he _ chose it.”

“That’s not,” he began swallowing past the lump that was rapidly forming in his throat. “Not what he told my mother.”

Vegeta shrugged, unaware of the turmoil he was rapidly releasing inside of the lavender-haired prince—or perhaps simply uncaring. His mother had believed that Vegeta hadn’t truly wanted them. She’d  _ died _ with that belief. 

“Perhaps he felt that he’d been weak for choosing to procreate with a weak race.”

Trunks sighed. “Whatever. It’s over and done with.”

Vegeta shook his head. “I think not. Reports from Earth spoke of a blue-haired woman—”

“It’s not Bulma!” Trunks said heatedly. “God, she’s my—my friend!”

The prince snorted. “You seem agitated . . . son.”

The lavender-haired warrior glared at the other saiyan. “Why do you even care? You’re not bound by the choices that  _ he _ made. I changed time so you wouldn’t be forced to do things you didn’t want to do.”

“And yet, he was far stronger than I, wasn’t he?”

Trunks balked. “That’s—That’s not . . .”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” the prince asked with a bitter smile. “Was I the legendary as well?”

The half-breed flinched before swallowing. “Not . . . not yet.”

“But I became so, after meeting your mother.”

Trunks looked up quickly in shock. “My mother isn’t some trigger for you—”

“Well,  _ something _ is! You spoke of loss—it drove you to greater heights of power.”

He flinched at the words. It was true, though. Agonizing emotional distress was the trigger to achieve the legendary. It was why most saiyans would be hard-pressed to reach it. The ability to truly value another person and place that life above their own had been all but bred out of them. They’d sacrificed ethics and common decency for indifference to the slaughter of countless trillions of sentients across the galaxy.

Trunks stood up, looking down at the prince for his superior height. “I won’t let you hurt my mother just to achieve your ambitions, Vegeta.”

“You would think such a thing of your own father?” the saiyan asked with a nasty smile.

The lavender-haired warrior examined the prince. He was far closer in personality to what Vegeta had been during the fight with the androids. More so than he’d hoped. That part of him was pure saiyan, apparently. The man he’d become in the other timeline—the man that had fought Zamasu with him . . . had nearly sacrificed his life to save Trunks. 

The saiyan that stood before him was nothing like that man.

_ “You _ are  _ not _ my father,” he said quietly before pushing past Vegeta.

Vegeta didn’t respond or try to call him back as he walked away. As he passed by the door, he found the king standing there. The older saiyan made no move to hide himself of the fact that he’d been listening.

Trunks snorted and continued on down the corridor. He didn’t care if the king had heard him or not.

 

* * *

 

The prince pulled on his own clothing as the king approached. Trunks hadn’t seemed to realize that the king was there, but Vegeta was always aware of his father—and the man’s tendency to be where he wasn’t wanted.

“You do neither of you any favors by continuing to antagonize him,” his father said from the doorway.

The prince shook his head as he latched his cape into place. “Fe . . . as if I care about the half-breed  _ or _ his feelings.”

Vegeta felt like he was being ripped up inside whenever he looked at Trunks. His  _ son _ from the future was there and he was making a fool of the prince. He was torn between pride that his genes were responsible for the creation of such a powerful warrior, and the fact this this warrior far outstripped him in nearly every way that mattered.

Power was important, of course, but Vegeta knew he would ascend one day—a day that he could  _ feel _ was rapidly approaching. Yes, power was important, but it was hardly the only quality that Trunks possessed that made others stop and turn towards him. The God-King himself had sought out Trunks’ hand in marriage.

“King Cold and Cooler continue to keep their distance because Trunks is here. Should he up and disappear on us—we would have no recourse or defense,” the king said, arms crossing as he eyed his son.

Vegeta gritted his teeth. “You place too much hope on the shoulders of the boy and not enough faith in your own people.”

“He is a super-saiyan, Vegeta. The first in a thousand years. He said you would do it too, but you haven’t yet. When you have achieved the Legendary, you may boast of your strength and prowess to your heart’s content, but until then—make nice with your  _ son _ and do not value your pride over the survival of our race.”

The prince raised a brow. “How  _ is _ Bardock doing?”

The king’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“If you’re going to speak to me of pride, I would ask where you’ve hidden yours?”

“You little shit. My personal affairs are none of your concern—”

“And yet you would dictate mine to me. You’re keeping your lover  _ unconscious _ in the queen’s chambers in order to keep him from leaving you,” he said before shifting a side-eye to his father. “Makes one wonder what you’re doing to him while he can’t fight back—”

The king slammed his fit into the prince’s face causing the younger saiyan to fly back into the wall. The prince snorted as he wiped a bit of blood from his mouth and spit out more.

“Touched a nerve, did I?” he asked before standing again. “I don’t understand this  _ obsession _ you have with that third-class.”

“You don’t need to understand, prince. You merely need to do as I say.”

“I’m not your lackey—”

“You are the crown prince! One day, you will be king—no—one day you will be an  _ emperor. _ You will rule over this galaxy . . . But that day has not come, yet.  _ Today, _ you exist to serve me, to follow my orders, and when you produce an heir, you will do the same to him.”

The prince felt his lip curl in disgust. “I’ve no interest in brats.”

The king snorted derisively. “I care little for your tedious idiosyncrasies. That boy will be born in just under two years. I believe that we’ve located his mother.”

Vegeta was glad in that moment that he was turned away from the king because he knew he’d have given himself away with the way his eyes widened.

The boy’s mother . . . The woman.

The prince had rarely felt anything for anyone else. Saiyans simply weren’t wired that way. He supposed he vaguely cared for his father, but that seemed more peripheral and perhaps was closer to a loyalty for the man that had raised him than an affectionate familial bond.

But  _ her _ . . .

He knew nothing of this woman, not her appearance or personality—her power level or social rank . . . and yet he wanted to know  _ everything _ . This creature that had birthed the most powerful saiyan in existence . . . and had raised him alone. Among the trillions of sentients in the galaxy, he’d  _ chosen _ this one.

He  _ needed _ to know why.

His father knew who she was, and if he was telling the prince, then he had  _ plans. _ Vegeta wasn’t surprised, but he wouldn’t go along with anything the king was doing without a fight.

“Why?” he asked carelessly as he turned back around. “You have your savior prince now. We do not need another half-breed in the palace.”

“That  _ half-breed _ is your son, Vegeta. Do you really wish to  _ erase _ his existence?”

The prince nearly snapped back that he did indeed wish the brat had never been born, but something inside him froze. The woman interested him, but a brat? He’d hardly given such a thing any thought. He could have as much fun with her as he wanted without saddling himself with a squalling babe.

But Trunks . . . he would be born in two years or he would never _ exist.  _

His fist trembled as he clenched his fists. He said nothing, but his response was heard and the king nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a while to edit as it's almost 7K words. O.O I feel like I could have done better with fleshing out the conversations, but it was already just massive.


	18. Chapter 18

Trunks felt  _ his _ approach long before the other saiyan came into view. Months had passed since he’d arrived on Vegeta-sei and there had been more than a few uncomfortable moments between himself and Prince Vegeta as well as the calculative gazes of the nobility even as most still kept their distance from him. He’d been tempted more than once to return to Earth, but every time he thought of his empty home there . . . 

Even if Raditz was unhappy with him for leaving without a word, he’d at least speak to the saiyan warrior face to face before returning home. The prince felt as though he’d been walking on eggshells the last few hours as he waited. He’d deliberately come to the more public parts of the palace in order to make it easy for his lover to find him. 

“A prince now, are we?” Raditz asked from behind him as he faced a massive statue of one of his ancestors. Trunks hesitated only a few seconds finally turning around to face the other man.

Raditz stood before him largely unchanged except that he currently sported the familiar uniform of the saiyan military—more specifically the slate-grey tone of the homeworld defensive squads. His hair was still just as short as it had been before, as was the challenging expression on the dark-haired saiyan’s face.

Trunks felt like a lead weight had been lifted and he snorted in amusement. “Didn’t you hear? My father is the king’s younger brother who disappeared thirty years ago.”

Raditz came closer but still didn’t try to touch him. “Really. And here I thought Prince Vedera was killed along with his entire squad when he took on a planet that was far too powerful for them to handle.”

Trunks shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t be staying long. The king and my—the prince want me to hang around for a while to take in the culture and ward off King Cold and Cooler, but that’s the extent of my involvement here.”

The saiyan crossed his arms contemplatively. “Well that’s interesting . . . I’d have thought you’d t least stay long enough to keep an eye on the blue-haired woman—”

Trunks looked up abruptly, phasing quickly so only inches separated them. “What did you say?  _ What _ woman?”

Raditz wasn’t intimidated. “Bulma Briefs, I believe is her name.”

“She can’t be here!” Trunks said with a shake of his head.

The saiyan warrior held his hands up at his sides in a mockery of defeat. “She insisted on coming back to Vegeta-sei with me—to check up on you—but she’s already been swept up by our labs. The king—”

Trunks did not even stay to listen to the rest, he rushed off and only heard the sound of Raditiz’s chuckles behind him as he sped across the palace grounds towards the gates. The guards did not try to stop him as he made his way to the Research Offices where he was sure that Bulma would be found in. 

Trunks felt around the area and sure enough, there she was. He could feel her weak ki moving around the facility with . . .

His eyes widened and he took off once more, speeding through the building, past doors and down halls until he nearly fell over. Bulma blinked at him in confusion before a smile fell upon her lips and she walked briskly towards him.

“Trunks!” she said brightly, her arms coming around him. The purple-haired fighter looked past her shoulder towards the king as he stood there taking in the pair of them with a considering expression.

“King Vegeta was just showing me the labs—”

“What are you doing here?” he asked abruptly.

Her brow furrowed. “They said you were staying here for some reason. I couldn’t just leave you—”

“Bulma, this planet is dangerous,” he said before lowering his voice, “These people are dangerous.”

Her head tilted in bewilderment. “They seem okay to me, Trunks, but maybe I’d have a bit more information at hand to make that kind of decision if you’d told me that you’ve been dealing with their scouts and squads for years.”

Trunks swallowed and looked up but the king merely shrugged, seemingly uncaring of the soldiers that had died at the hands of his grandson over the years.

“I didn’t tell you because there wasn’t any need. I took care of them and anyone else that was a threat to the planet,” he said, his voice hardening.

Her brow furrowed and she took on a expression of confusion, as though she didn’t recognize him. “Trunks . . . that’s not your responsibility—not something you have to take on alone.”

The lavender-haired warrior swallowed before looking away. “I didn’t see any reason to worry you. I handled it.”

“Trunks,” she said as she put her hand on his arm. He flinch before meeting her eyes. She smiled encouragingly. “I’m here because you don’t need to take care of everything by yourself anymore. You and I . . . we’re family, aren’t we?”

His breath caught in his throat as he looked at her before he pulled her close and into a hug. He knew the king was watching them closely so he kept the embrace short. His eyes met those of his grandfather but the saiyan king seemed entirely unaffected as though nothing about this was surprising. 

Trunks really needed to get Bulma off this planet.

“Listen, Bulma. I get that you wanted to make sure I was alright, but you really should go back to Earth. Here, I’ll take you right now,” he said as he moved his fingers up towards his forehead.

“Hey, wait!” she said, her own hand coming up to yank on his fingers. It felt odd to have her pulling on him—normally he wouldn't feel anything, but there was an bit of extra ki there. She’d been training in the months long journey to get here.

_ Oh the king knew, alright. _ He’d somehow made sure Bulma would be able to live on this planet indefinitely.

“Bulma, seriously—”

She poked him in the chest. “Hey there mister, you don’t tell me what to do. The king has been kind enough to show me around the science division and he’s made an offer to Capsule Corp that my board is currently reviewing. I can’t just leave until a decision has been made one way or another.”

“Miss Briefs, I am sorry to say that I must depart from your company. I have another appointment in a few minutes,” the king said, causing them to look up.

“That’s fine,” she said brightly. “Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

“Your office space is just a few doors down but do not hesitate to contact the palace if you have any questions or concerns.”

“Thank you again.”

The king nodded and he and part of his entourage began walking down the hall. Trunks watched him go, suspicions rising in his mind.

 

* * *

 

The king left the two to speak and walked away. The human woman, Bulma seemed intelligent enough—perhaps even as much as Bardock. She was also even more ugly in person. The lack of musculature and the alien blue hair made her fairly off-putting to look at, but there was a definite magnetic quality about her. He was both slightly repulsed that his son would have consented to breed with such a creature, but if there were no other saiyans around he could see why his son would have chosen her, though perhaps the prince hadn’t realized that the woman’s genes would be so dominant when it came to their child’s looks.

The king chuckled to himself as he thought of his son’s reaction to a lavender-haired son. He exited the science division’s compound and took off. She’d not been wearing the ki bracelets so Raditz had done his job—yet another thing to reward the young man for. His guards and secretary followed closely behind him as he flew towards the palace and contemplated exactly what position he would move Bardock’s eldest to as he landed.

Only to spot said saiyan standing before the doors of the palace.

He landed a hundred paces from the grand entry and all the saiyans and sentients that were checking in and seeking entry immediately gave the customary bow and greeting as they realized he was there. 

The king walked forwards, ignoring them all until he came to a stop beside Raditz. He’d almost not recognized the former third-class with his shorn locks. He knew little of Raditz personally, but saiyans took great pride in their hair and very few of them would cut it willingly.

“I did not expect you to be here, squad commander,” he said, eyeing the younger man.

Raditz hesitated. “My father . . .”

The king tilted his head, his expression wary. “What  _ about  _ Bardock?” he asked, voice steady.

Raditz flinched, but swallowed past whatever reservation he felt and stepped closer. The guards shifted, but did not move towards them as the king waved them off.

“Why is he in the palace, my king?” the squad commander asked softly.

Vegeta felt all expression drain from his face. The royal wing was shielded from scouters. Rumors be damned—no one should  _ know _ that Bardock was there.

“Come with me,” he said before walking off.

Raditz followed behind him, the others in the entourage keeping close, but eyeing them cautiously. They thought Raditz had said something to anger him, but that was only a fraction of what he was feeling. Raditz hadn’t tried to get into the royal wing, he hadn’t apparently tried to announce his father’s location—no, he’d waited to speak to the king. Vegeta wasn’t angry, but he  _ was _ curious about how Raditz knew, and if Raditz knew . . . How many others did as well? 

They passed through the grand entryway and down several corridors, moving deeper and deeper into the palace. Eventually they came to a halt outside the double doors leading into a rather underutilized sun room. He turned to his secretary.

“You all stay out here. I must speak to Squad Commander Raditz in private.”

The man nodded and the king stepped inside with the other saiyan right behind him. The door shut and they were left alone in silence.

“How do you know about Bardock?”

The squad commander flinched. “I learned how to sense power levels back on Earth. When I got close to the palace—I could feel him. Why is he here? I was told that he’d left—”

The king cut him off. “That is the official story, but I had him brought back soon after.”

He watched Raditz's expression carefully. He looked over the subtle twinges in the saiyan warrior’s body. His scouter had picked up the drastic increase in power from their last meeting. This was a saiyan elite that would give even the king a run for his money if he decided that his loyalty to his father was worth losing his career and possibly his life.

But nothing showed. The other man hardly moved—even to breathe. He understood what this must all look like to Raditz. This man was faced with another who was keeping his father detained without any discernible reason. He also understood what doing nothing would cost him for his pride. 

Raditz’s lack of response made him all the more valuable to the king.

“I need to speak with him,” Raditz said, his voice carefully neutral. “My brother is alive.”

The saiyan nodded. “You will . . . soon.”

Raditz became quiet, his eyes calculating in a way that reminded the king of Bardock—the intelligence present in that bloodline was a thing of beauty. But if he’d thought the conversation was over, he was mistaken as the younger saiyan spoke again.

“He’s not . . . not working for you, but is unmoving inside the royal wing,” Raditz said flatly.

_ Ah . . .  _ “He is still in his pod.”

Raditz's head tilted, the first sign of anything other than calm indifference. “Why?”

“Until you returned to Vegeta-sei, there was little point in waking him up. He would have just tried to leave again. I was actually on my way to revive him when I met you.”

Raditz gave him another searching look but only nodded in understanding and wisely did not comment whatever personal feelings he had towards the relationship between the king and his father—just as the king did not comment on how he recognized Raditz’s scent as the one that had nearly  _ enshrouded _ Trunks when he’d arrived on Vegeta-sei.

He didn’t comment on it, but he did mentally note it.

“General Nappa has been promoted to an admiral within the saiyan fleet and he has left his position as captain of the Red Guard vacant.”

Raditz’s eyes widened as he no doubt saw the point of the comment.

“You’ve proven to be intelligent and loyal to the throne and so you are being promoted to the rank of captain as well as filling this position.”

“My king . . . it is an honor.”

“The palace is a turbulent place right now. The arcosians are stewing for revenge and the nobles are stirring up trouble within the lower classes. Captain of the Red Guard is not only a prestigious position, but also a massive responsibility.” he stepped closer. “You will be in constant contact with the royal family—not just myself but also my son . . . and my nephew.”

Raditz shifted uncomfortably at the implication, but said made no comment about it. “I will not fail you, my liege.”

The king nodded. “Wait here. Your father will be here soon.”

The new captain bowed once more and the king turned and headed back outside. The lackies all stood there waiting as though they hadn’t had their ears pressed to the door. He said nothing but instead walked down the hall towards the royal wing. 

The number of secretaries gradually tapered off the further within the wing they got—off to take care of other business as they wouldn’t be needed while he was in his personal part of the palace. Only Cado’s replacement—whose name he still had yet to learn—remained by the time he stopped outside Bardock’s door.

_ The queen’s chambers,  _ he thought wryly. His lover would be absolutely livid over that, even without the false imprisonment and possible kidnapping that would come between them. But it was the suite closest to his—connected via a private hall and long vacant.

The guards bowed and he walked in, shutting the door behind him.

The pod was currently placed where the bed used to be, looking like a beat-up grey monstrosity surrounded by luxury and class. Bardock’s face was only just visible through the red glass and the king reached out and touched the window as he had many time these last few months. Bardock was there, but he was not  _ really _ there. The king missed the quiet conversations, the arguments, and the way the other man’s eyes and face lit up with the rare smile.

Vegeta swallowed uncomfortably. He’d not be receiving any of those smiles any time soon.

He hit the release button and stepped back as the pod opened and the sleeping gas spewed out. Bardock’s eyes were still closed and he looked so unassuming and weak—at least until they opened.

They blinked in confusion as they took in the room before landing on the king.

“Vegeta?” he asked, and it was a testament to how out-of-it he still was that he didn’t address the king by his title. He rarely dropped the formality unless in the throws of passion—another situation that likely wouldn't happen for a while. 

The king reached out and took hold of Bardock’s wrist, pulling the other man out of the pod until he was standing before him. Bardock continued to blink in confusion until something apparently got through the fog of sleep.

“This is . . . This is Vegeta-sei,” he said, no doubt recognizing the style of the furnishing even in the closed off room.

The kind didn’t try and deny it. “Yes, it is.”

Bardock turned that heavy gaze onto him. “I resigned already. My son is gone. You can’t keep me from leaving this time.”

“Your sons are alive—both of them,” he said, his eyes moving over Bardock’s face carefully.

The man’s expression wasn’t one of happiness or shock . . . not there was dismay as he murmured out a cursory, “What?”

The king gritted his teeth as he thought over Cado’s final words. He’d known they were true, but no one liked being slapped in the face with such a long string of lies.

“Raditz is here within the palace,” the king said absently.

Bardock looked at him strangely. “He can’t be—he was on Earth.”

“And now he’s here,” he said simply.

Bardock turned away to look back at the pod and he was quiet for a long few minutes. Then his eyes moved over the room before his shoulders seemed to both slump and tense at the same time.

“How long was I asleep?” the third-class asked, a tiredness rarely heard coloring his voice.

“Almost four months.”

His lover turned back to meet his gaze. “Four . . . four months. You kept me in pod asleep for four months. This is really beyond the pale—even for you.”

He shrugged, completely unrepentant. “There was little point in you going there, Bardock. If what I suspected was true, your son would have returned anyway.”

Bardock came at him, his hand coming up to fist into the king’s uniform. “What you suspected? What exactly was it that you  _ suspected?”  _ he asked angrily.

Vegeta didn’t shove him off. He didn’t even raise his voice. “You’ve been hiding both Kakarot and the savior all these years.”

Bardock  _ glared _ at him as he shoved back away, and the king could not help laughing. “I’ve not been on the receiving end of that look for some time.” The king would be lying if he said he didn’t think Bardock’s anger made him even more attractive. “No more contrived grovelling, Bardock—and no more lies.”

The third-class let out a derisive snort. “Does that apply to us both?”

The king’s eye slid to Bardock’s shoulder—uncovered in the low neckline of his armor. The unmarked skin there called to him. “It could,” he said quietly.

Bardock as usual, deflected. “That is not part of this discussion . . . my king.”

Vegeta said nothing at first—What was the point? It was a tired and overdone argument between them. “I’ve had decades, you know,” he began, walking closer to Bardock, circling the third-class. “To think on the secret of the legendary. It baffled me for years, why and how our lost prince—as a half-breed—was able to achieve that status when billions of our full-blooded brethren could not . . . and then I met you.”

His lover suddenly wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m not—”

The king cut him off.“I said no more lies, Bardock.”

“What is it that you  _ think _ you know?” the third-class asked, his tone clearly agitated. This was a conversation he’d not wanted to have, but there was no more time to coddle Bardock. Their collective chickens had come home to roost.

“When you received that report about Raditz all those years ago—when he was assumed killed in action . . . I saw you,” he said quietly, his breath ghosting over the skin of the third-class’s throat.

He could almost  _ hear _ the pounding of Bardock’s heard as the other man whispered out, “What did you see?”

He shifted even closer. “A legend.”

Bardock turned his head and gritted his teeth. “I am no legend.”

The king backed away then, his tone turing deceptively light. “Your relationship with your son—you’re unnaturally close for saiyans.” Bardock blanched, but the King hurried to add. “I make no untowards insinuations. But you must be aware that you are a rare creature among our kind. You . . . you  _ love _ and you receive love in return.”

Bardock looked up and the  _ emotion _ found within the other man’s gaze. . . “It is a weakness according to our traditions,” he said.

Vegeta tilted his head. “We both know better, though, don’t we. You ascended due to your love . . . as did your son, Kakarot. It’s why you’ve kept them both from me all these years, isn’t it.” The scientist swallowed and attempted to look away, but a hand on his jaw pulled his face back towards the king. “You have been warming my bed for decades while thinking I would murder your child if I found him.”

Bardock’s eyes widened. “Kakarot isn’t—”

The king cut him off with a barked out, _ “He is. _ We both know it. Your son ascended with the help of the savior, and while you may not wish to reveal your power, will Kakarot be as averse to the spotlight?”

Bardock pushed the hand away. “You say you love me—that you want to be with me, but I’ve known you for more than twenty years! You didn’t feel this way for me back in the beginning—I was nothing but a convenience back then. Why should I have told you anything? He’s my son.”

Vegeta shook his head. “If you had come to me sooner— _ before  _ he became the legendary, I could have protected him—protected that planet of his! Now his very existence could become a threat to the throne.”

His lover’s jaw dropped open. “My king!”

“No! If word ever gets out that a third-class purging infant ascended, then the people of this planet will begin to believe that anyone can ascend—and they will find a way to achieve it. There would be chaos with power-hungry saiyans running amok—”

“No, there wouldn’t,” Bardock said heatedly, cutting him off.

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

The third-class swallowed uncomfortably. “They’ll know . . . eventually. He needed to ascend as well and power like this . . . it can never stay buried forever. The universe will eventually know of our race’s ascension, but . . . there is power beyond the legendary.”

The king let none of is avarice show on his face as he eyed his lover. “Beyond? You . . . you’ve seen it?”

Bardock hesitated and Vegeta  _ knew _ he’d seen it. His lover rarely came right out with information about the future—his preference laid more in vague whispers in the dark, but the king supposed that for the sake of Kakarot, Bardock would be willing to step outside of his usual circle—to be honest for once in his life.

“The savior—that is Trunks . . . he is already there. He’s never revealed it, but he could wipe out entire systems—perhaps even entire galaxies—without effort. And your son . . . he—he  _ needs _ Kakarot . . . a rival. Together, they will . . .”

Vegeta stepped closer. “What? Bardock, what will they do?”

“Become gods.”

Bardock shuttered as he said the last and the king could not help the wide possessive grin that nearly split his face. His lover was . . . was perfect. A creature of great power and prophetic vision. Vegeta reached out and put both hands on either side of Bardock’s face. He leaned in and slanted his lips over the third-class’. Bardock’s hands hung limply by his side as he allowed the kiss, but when they eventually parted, he tried to look away from the king once more.

Vegeta held onto him. “I won’t let you run from me anymore, my love.”

Bardock shook his head. “No. I . . . I can not stay here any longer. This . . . this attachment you have towards me was never supposed to have gotten this far—”

“But it has,” The king said firmly. “And I’ve grown tired of your obstinance when we both know there is only one outcome for us.”

Bardock pushed him away abruptly. “You say that, but I’ve seen the future—I’ve seen the person you are supposed to be with . . . and it isn’t me.”

The king froze at the revelation. There was someone else? Someone that would usurp Bardock’s place at his side? In his heart? 

_ No, _ he decided quickly. No, whomever it was, they would not mean more to him than his third-class geneticist—but officially by his side? That was another story, altogether. It was possible that someone would one day worm their way into power through the king.

His eyes narrowed. “Who is it?”

Bardock looked up, seemingly shocked by the question. “What?”

The king sneered as he spoke. “Who is the one that you think will replace you? If you’ve seen it then you know who they are.”

The third-class looked away. “I can not reveal that—specifics such as those are not known to me.”

His lover was lying . . . again. He knew who it was, but for some reason he was protecting that person. Vegeta thought about furthering the argument and forcing the answer out, but that would be entirely counter productive when the goal of this conversation was to re-secure Bardock’s place in the palace and perhaps his affections. 

“Anyway,” Bardock said quickly. “You have your savior now so I’m no longer needed in an official capacity—”

The king shot him a withering look. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Bardock sighed and finally shrugged Vegeta’s hands off him. He attempted to walk around the king, but he didn’t get far before the saiyan royal had his arm in the vice grip.

“You will never walk away from me—”

“I will do as I please!” Bardock growled out, jerking his arm free. “I’m sure Cado was more than happy to fill you in on the details of my exit. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a son to welcome back from the dead.”

The king’s eye twitched as he pushed in front of the scientist. “I see the little bastard made a bigger mess than I’d thought.”

Bardock grimaced. “I don’t care. I never gave a shit about palace politics and now I want only to be away from here.”

“He’s dead.”

“Who?”

“Cado. I killed him when I realized you were gone.”

His lover paused, looking at him for a moment shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. My decision to leave still stands.”

“You cannot leave, Bardock.”

The third-class was usually rather meek when it came to dealing with the king, but in that moment he snapped back with his true thoughts.

“Watch me,” he said through gritted teeth before yanking his arm from the King’s grasp and walking away. Vegeta’s nostrils flared in anger as the other man walked out of the room. A few seconds later, however a smile spread over his lips. 

_ This entire planet and everyone upon it is mine, Bardock. Everything you treasure will be waiting here in my palace. You can not stay away forever. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Classes have started up again for me and a personal emergency took me away from home over the weekend. Things will hopefully settle down for a few weeks now and I can get more chapters up. That being said, despite chapter 19 being just under 3000 words already, it's actually one of the more incomplete chapters of the entire draft. It's a lot of world building going on there that needs to be written in. Part of my process is that I jump around writing out scenes and trying to make them as 'dramatic' as possible. Chapters such as 19 that deal more with the daily life of the people around the characters, and a lot of the time I'm not sure right out of the gates how the mythology of the story go. In this case, I wasn't sure about the differences between the nobles and the third classes. I needed to write more chapters and sort of work my way through that before coming back to 19 and completely ironing out those details. This way, things in later chapters makes sense with what's in this chapter. I hope to have it up soon, but this one will take me a bit.


	19. Chapter 19

When Trunks re-entered his quarters, he already knew someone was there waiting for him. He even knew who it was. Raditz stood within his chambers as if he had every right to be there . . . and judging by the new uniform, he probably did. Trunks recognized the standard colors of the Red Guard, but Raditz did not sport short-sleeved version most often seen. His was sleeveless and the neck was cut in a deep V as well. He’d been promoted.

_ A reward for a job well done,  _ Trunks thought spitefully, completely ignoring the other man as he walked passed and made his way deeper into his chambers.

“Oh, so you’re going to go sulk like a child, is that it?” Raditz asked snidely.

Trunks shot a glare at the other saiyan. “You had no right—no  _ reason _ to bring her here.”

The dark-haired saiyan raised a brow. “She insisted—”

“Oh bullshit!” Trunks snapped, cutting him off. “I don’t know what plan you and King Vegeta are cooking up, but I won’t let you hurt her.”

Raditz merely blinked impassively. “You give so little credit to your blue human. Did you even notice her rise in power level?”

He had in fact noticed—and it only pissed him off even more. “Even if you got her power level up high enough for her to live here, she won’t stay. Earth is her home.”

“Like it is yours?” Raditz asked with a derisive snort. “You seem to have adapted pretty well to your mother planet,  _ Prince _ Trunks.”

“Don’t even start,” he said, rolling his eyes.

His lover shrugged. “How can I not? You’re not only the savior of our world but a lost royal prince as well, but tell me . . . is it true?  _ Are _ you royal?”

He could tell that Raditz very much wanted to know—that the answer was important to him.

“It’s true,” he said after a moment, choosing his words carefully. “My father is a prince,” he said. 

Raditz let out a growl. “I suppose the other nobles have already begun making advances.”

Trunks blinked in confusion. “Advances? What the hell are you talking about?”

“They will be sniffing around you like bitches in heat,” Raditz gritted out.

The prince smiled, but it was without any mirth. “Looking like I do? Are you serious? I don’t exactly fall within the saiyan standard of beauty, remember? I’ve heard more than one person comment on how desperate you had to have been to even touch me.” He’d also heard some less than complimentary things said of Raditz—what a social climber he was for lowering himself to mingle with someone so repulsive just for a bit of power.

Trunks had never given much thought to his looks. His mother had always told him he was handsome and many of the girls and then women throughout his life had never seemed unhappy with his appearance, but the saiyans were very put off by his hair and eyes.

Raditz approached him slowly, his hand reached out and touched Trunks’ arm. “They have seen nothing but the sameness of all saiyans for thousands of years, but trust me, after a few months, once the shock of your differences have worn off, they’ll see you for what you truly are.”

“And what is that?” Trunks asked.

“Perfect.”

There wasn’t any hint of lie in the word. The older saiyan meant it and the prince felt himself sag a bit. He was still mad at Raditz, but he needed the other man—needed this closeness that he hadn’t felt with another person since . . . since Mai.

Raditz seemed to get it as he pulled him close, his arms tightly wrapped around Trunks’ torso and the half-breed returned the gesture. He breathed in the scent of the other saiyan and buried his face into the dark red of the new uniform.

He could feel his senses becoming overwhelmed by the spiciness of Raditz’s scent. Perhaps in the past, he would have pulled away in order to clear his head, but for right now, he wanted something he shouldn’t want.They eventually pulled away and Trunks met the other man’s eyes for a long moment before leaning in slightly. It was enough for Raditz to dive close in and slant his mouth over the prince’s. Trunks let out a low moan as they ground themselves against one another in movements that began to get increasingly frantic.

He pulled on Raditz's suit as the other man did the same—lips, tongue and teeth going for every inch of revealed skin as they moved from the outer chamber into the massive bedroom. There was a mild breeze coming in from the open terrace doors and Trunks shivered as it moved over his revealed skin.

He was pushed back onto the bed and he could only look up as Raditz finished pulling off his clothing. The other man pulled on the prince’s shoes and pants, exposing him further and Trunks swallowed as he eyed the other man’s large erection as it swayed and bobbed before him.

“Are you ready, my prince?” Raditz asked with a lick of his lips as he moved over the lavender-haired saiyan. Their erections lined up and they moved slowly against one another, building friction and heat and the half-breed nodded.

“Lube,” he said. “S—Side table.”

Raditz smirk was so smug that Trunks itched to slap it off him, but the promise held in the other man’s eyes stayed his hand.

“What are you in the mood for, my prince,” Raditz asked as he held the tube between his fingers. “Does my prince want to be held beneath a former third-class or would he rather pound his subject into the mattress?”

Trunks glared at the other man. “I’d rather have my—my lover  _ make love _ to me.”

The words were unfamiliar on his tongue, but the way Raditz’s entire body shuddered against him . . . he couldn’t regret them.

“Your wish is my command . . . Trunks,” Raditz said as he leaned down and kissed the prince.

He allowed his legs to be spread apart and as he leaned his head into the pillows, he couldn’t help but revel in the softness of the other man’s touch as he was gently opened up. Trunks really did prefer sex like this. He’d topped a few times—usually at Raditz’s insistence, but he liked not having to think for once—not having to be so in control of himself.

He liked feeling Raditz's body move over him . . . behind him . . . into him. As it was now. 

Trunks bit his lip as the familiar feeling of fullness moved through him. It had been a few months and it was just like the first time all over again—except for the lingering doubt.

There wasn’t any of that this time around. He held onto Raditz and wrapped his arms around the other man as he settled atop the prince. Trunks swallowed heavily as moans bubbled up from his throat. The dark-haired saiyan let out his own grunts and moans as he powered up in order to slam inside even harder.

“Oh . . . oh god,” he whispered into the dark spiky locks of his lover.

Raditz leaned back and lifted Trunks up until he was settled astride as Raditz knelt on the mattress.

“One of these days,” the man whispered as they continued to move. “You’re going to be a super saiyan and I’m going to feel all of you inside me.”

Trunks had never contemplated such a thing—not with any lover, and especially not with Mai or another human. “Is that what you want?” he asked. “What turns you on?”

“Oh, undoubtedly. I want to see it, you know. You’ve never shown it to me.”

The words were punctuated with harsh thrusts that had Trunks biting his lip as his head fell back and his hair streamed down to sweep against his spine. He felt his tail lash back and forth with pleasure and felt the brush of Raditz’s against him.

Trunks reached down between them and palmed his cock as his lover moved up and into him. He licked his lips and soaked in the grunts of the other man as he eventually came, his come shooting up to coat their chest. The half-breed allowed his body to go boneless and fall back onto the bed.

He felt Raditz lift up one of his legs and throw it over his shoulder as he was tuned partially onto his side. The dark-haired saiyan’s thrusts became savage as he moved all the more forcefully and Trunks had to dig his fingers into the blankets to keep purchase. He heard the fabric ripping slightly, but it wasn’t in him to care at that moment.

Raditz had one arm wrapped around the prince’s leg, holding the lavender-haired warrior to him while his other hand moved over Trunks skin. His fingers glided over the half-breed’s obliques and abs and Trunks reached down laced their fingers together.

He looked up at Raditz and he must have been a mess with his hair falling everywhere and his mouth hanging open as he panted. The other man’s thrusts stuttered before he slammed in one last time and held onto Trunks’ leg so tightly that the prince thought the circulation might have been cut off.

Eventually, the pressure subsided and Trunks shifted his leg. It fell heavily down as Raditz pulled out, leaving a sticky trail of lube and cum over the prince’s backside. Raditz sat back, and the only sounds were their rapid breathing as they both came down from their orgasms. Trunks felt his eyes slip closed for a few seconds before another shifting of the bed had him opening them again.

Raditz got up and made his way to the adjoining bathing chamber and returned shortly with a damp cloth. The prince said nothing as his lover wiped him clean of both their spends and instead turned over completely onto his stomach. Raditz soon discarded the cloth and got back on the bed but he didn’t lay down with the prince. He mealy sat beside him, his eyes moving over messy lavender hair and the smooth expanse of the half-breed’s skin. 

Trunks looked up and blinked as he took in the almost other-worldly look of the other man. One of the suns was setting outside the massive terrace. It painted to room in a rust-red cast that glinted crimson over Raditz’s hair. Raditz’s eyes weren’t on his, but rather on the sheet of lavender hair that fell over his shoulder.

Trunks watched as Raditz picked up a few of the locks, his fingers moving over the soft human-like strands and he seemed to be admiring the way certain sections caught in the reddened light. It was such a strange sight to the prince. He remembered rather vividly when Raditz hadn’t even wanted to touch his hair. He remembered back when Raditz had said he would look better with the dark hair of his saiyan parent.

“Do you still hate it?” he asked softly.

Raditz’s expression never changed as he answered. “I never hated it. I just didn’t know how to handle wanting you.”

“Looking the way I do?”

The saiyan elite nodded. “I never imagined someone like you could exist. That someone so different could be so familiar, and that I . . .”

He trailed off and Trunks was grateful. He wasn’t ready for that . . . those feelings. Things said in the throes of passion could be ignored and forgotten, but in the aftermath . . . He liked Raditz and wanted to be with him, but he couldn’t—he couldn’t promise the other man anything.

“Do you know,” Raditz continued softly. “When I saw your tail . . . you really took my breath away.”

Trunks looked away, hating the way something fluttered in his chest. “It’s just a tail,” he said evenly, hoping the conversation would end there.

The dark-haired saiyan shook his head. “No . . . our tails are . . . They’re a symbol of our people—a physical manifestation of who we are and where we came from. Long ago, during the Great Strife, many saiyans abandoned their tails—the genetics offices . . . they weren’t originally ours.”

The prince nodded, remembering that particular lecture from his tutor. “They were created by that pacifist faction.”

Raditz nodded. “Yes. Those saiyans used gene manipulation to breed the tails out of themselves. It’s no wonder they lost the war. Saiyans without tails . . . it’s an affront to our heritage—an insult to the suffering our people endured to preserve our way of life.”

“It’s really that important?” he asked as he shifted onto his side.

“Yes, and seeing you with one . . . it’s like you’ve truly accepted yourself as a saiyan.”

Trunks was quiet as Raditz’s tail moved against him, the coarse dark brown fur winding around the lavender appendage.

“My father . . .” Trunks began with an uncomfortable swallow. “I don’t think he ever saw me as a saiyan. I’m not even sure if he really saw me as a son.”

Trunks felt the skin beneath his eye twitch as he remembered the man Vegeta had been before the cell games. The Vegeta of his own timeline would have been much the same—uncaring about Bulma and her baby son being blown to hell during an attack. His only focus had been finding Dr. Gero.

Things had changed, of course, after their time in the hyperbolic time chamber, and during their time apart before Zamasu but . . . but Trunks’  _ true _ father—the man long gone and now erased even in death—that man probably hadn’t really cared about either Bulma or Trunks.

“He is sure to be proud of the man you’ve become,” Raditz said.

Trunks snorted as he thought of the glares of this timeline’s Vegeta. “Perhaps . . .”

The older saiyan grimaced as he rolled out of bed. The prince watched him with lazy eyes as he got dressed.

“Where are you going?” Trunks asked. He’d hoped to lay in bed at least a bit longer.

Raditz smirked. “Where are  _ we _ going, you mean? Get up.”

Trunks stretched out and his tail waved lazily against the sheets. He liked the way Raditz’s gaze lingered over his back.

“We could stay in bed,” he said, shifting his body slightly so that the muscles of his back moved just so. 

Raditz watched the moment and swallowed audibly before shaking his head forcefully. “Not a chance, half-breed. We’re going out.”

The prince slumped. “Why?”

“Because I was stuck on your planet for almost four months and then stuck on that ship for just as long. I have things to do, places to go, people to beat to a pulp.”

Trunks let out a snort, before stretching and getting up. His eyes moved towards the shower and he thought of bathing—washing Raditz’s scent from his body . . . He could see Raditz was waiting for him to make the decision. The elite had stopped pulling his old clothing on, but his eyes weren’t on the prince.

Trunks bit his lip but proceeded to simply go to his closet and pull on a more casual version of his uniform—one that would stand up to a fight if needed. What did it matter is the saiyans knew he was sleeping with Raditz? They’d all smelt him when he’d first come anyway, and it would hardly be a surprise at this point.

Raditz said nothing as he resumed getting dressed and the pair stepped out onto the terrace.

“Where are we going?”

Trunks knew his voice held a note of hesitancy. It wasn’t that he was afraid, per se—no one on this planet could possibly touch him, but he’d yet to leave the palace. The nobles who haunted the grounds looking for favor and power were deferential enough, but they were also careful around him.

The rest of the population . . . he had no idea what they would think or do.

“We’re going to get some food and then we’re going to a training yard.”

“We have training grounds here in the palace—”

Raditz rolled his eyes. “I won’t let you shut yourself up in this palace for the rest of your life, Trunks. You were a hermit back on Earth, but you’re a  _ prince _ here. It’s time you knew your people.”

Trunks sighed but nodded and the pair took off. He followed closely as they glided through the spires of the palace and Raditz’s scouter beeped with communications from the palace and clearance to fly within the grounds.

He would not normally do such a thing, but the prince was able to do whatever he wanted, and Raditz also now had that privilege.

“Captain?” Trunks asked as he heard the tail end of the short conversation.

“I was just promoted to captain of the Imperial Red Guard. You and I will be seeing a lot of one another.”

Trunks nodded. He’d thought as much. Captain of the Red Guard was quite a step up from a planetary squad commander, but Bulma Briefs was here, Trunks was here, and neither would be leaving any time soon. The king must have been terribly pleased.

He shook off his thoughts. He’d known for a while that Raditz had told the king anything and everything he wanted to know about their time on Earth. He wasn’t ready to . . . to break up with Raditz, but he couldn’t fully trust the other man, either.

The rest of their short journey was spent in silence, but that abruptly ended when they landed in the middle of a busy market street. There were stalls selling food mixed with flashy modern shops selling tech and armor. Showrooms featuring art and decor stood in stark contrast to more primitive looking kiosks selling imported mass-produced clothing.

He blinked at the array of different things and people—more specifically at the many sentients milling about. He’d only seen this kind of concentration of non-saiyans within the science division of the palace.

“Is that the . . . the prince?”

Trunks turned his head and sure enough, a few people had stopped what they were doing and were standing there staring at him. He began to turn away from them, but a hand hastily grabbed his.

The half-breed raised a brow as he looked back towards the man holding his hand.

The saiyan hastily released him, swallowing uncomfortably. “I’m—I’m sorry, my—my prince. I just wanted to say thank you for saving us—Our entire species would be . . . would be gone if you hadn’t—”

“How do we know this half-breed destroyed Frieza? The scouter only shows a couple hundred.”

The saiyan before him turned to face the owner of the second voice—another male saiyan, this one on the thinner side.  _ Strong for a third class, _ Trunks thought—guessing the man to be somewhere around the one to two thousand range—but a third class nonetheless.

“Shut your fool mouth, Coron! While you were hiding in your hut, I was up there with our people prepared to die in defense of our planet. I  _ saw _ him—I saw the legend.”

The man turned back to him. “I’ve never seen a saiyan transform the way you did, but I knew . . . I knew what it was without a doubt. Our Great Ancestor reborn.”

Trunks flushed. “It’s really . . . I did what I had to do . . . to protect our people.”

“Long life and glorious battle to Prince Trunks!” someone called and others echoed the sentiment through the street as more people stopped to take in the spectacle.

Trunks hurried to cut in before it got out of hand. “I thank you all for your kind words of support for me, but please, go about your day. I’d rather you not waste your time on me as I’m no different than any of you,” he said with a shrug. “I’m just here to eat.”

Many in the crowd laughed at the familiar sentiment before moving off. A few lingered to present him with a formal bow of deference before they too moved on. If there was one thing he appreciated about saiyans, it was that they didn’t seem to have the same obsession with ‘famous people’ that humans had. 

“If you’re quite done, your  _ royal _ highness, I’m hungry.”

Trunks sent a glare in Raditz’s direct but the other man just laughed as they walked down the street towards a small food shop that smelled divine. Glass lined the front of the business and some kind of animal was being roasted in front of the windows giving passersby a perfect view of the juicy meat as it turned. Raditz led him inside and he waved to the man currently slathering some kind of sauce or perhaps a brine over the cooking meat with a brush.

“Raditz!” the big saiyans said loudly. “You made it off that deadzone planet, huh?”

“You better believe it,” he lover replied as he slumped into a chair. Trunks hesitated but sat down as well, his eyes moving over the found quality of most of the decor of the little hovel. 

“Of all the saiyans that could slither their way out of a suicide mission, I would always place my bets on you and it seemed planet certainly agrees with you,” the man said, eyeing Trunks with a strange expression. “I’ll try not to be offended that you declined to breed with my daughter for a half-breed rank lover.”

Trunks blinked as he brought his attention back to the two conversing. “Rank lover?”

Raditz waved him off. “Ignore him. Squach here, is just pissed because his spawn wasn't able to sink her claws into me early.”

Squatch pointed his basting brush at Raditz accusingly. “Hey, you could have done a lot worse than my Gourda—”

“Not by much, but I’m not here for small talk about your precious daughter. I've been eating crap deadzone planet food and then ship rations—”

“Hey, I cook just fine!” Trunks cut in with an offended squawk.

Raditz raised a brow, unimpressed. “Chucking partially skinned animals in a fire pit is not cooking—Squach here is gonna show you real food.”

The saiyan nodded. “Sure thing Raditz, you want the full feast?”

Raditz pulled out his cred chip, “Make that two.”

Squach didn’t seem at all bothered by what was probably going to be a massive volume of food. “Coming up!”

The saiyan lumbered off into the back room but returned quickly and small side dishes were placed in front of them along with several bottles of alcohol and water. 

“Don’t drink it too fast,” Raditz said as he poured their drinks. “This isn’t your weak Earth swill.”

Trunks rolled his eyes before throwing the glass back and it was all he could do not to start coughing as his eyes watered. He wouldn’t give Raditz the satisfaction of making a sound even as the other man silently laughed at him.

The prince tilted his head. “So, am I your rank lover?”

Raditz snorted into his drink. “Hardly. A rank lover is someone who is far above another in station and exchanges sexual favors for ether political entry or power or even just regular training sessions.”

“We train together—and I  _ am _ a prince,” Trunks said, just to be difficult.

“I’m already super elite and I’ve just made captain. Unless I want to join the imperial fleet, there’s nowhere else I can go and I have no interest in politics.”

Trunks nodded though if he wasn't mistaken the imperial fleet would love to have Raditz. Their species wasn’t the most prolific because of their planet’s limited resources—they had to import most everything already—and after so many saiyans were killed while working for Frieza, their numbers were even smaller. Their galactic fleet was limited in size, but it was slowly growing and they were always looking for talented saiyans to join their ranks.

Trunks shrugged off the conversation as it ended and instead turned his attention to Squach as he came back out of the back ladened heavily with trays of food. There were no utensils on the table and he’d found that Saiyans simply didn’t use them. They used their fingers for most everything beyond soups. Trunks wondered for a moment how Bulma was fairing with that, before wiping his hands off with the offered moist town and digging in himself.

With the first bite of the cucumber-like veggie, he was hooked and it only got worse as the massive portions of meat arrived. Neither he nor Raditz said much as they ate their way through enough food to feed a human for a month—each. His mother would be appalled to see his lack of table manners, but for once Trunks took a page out of his father’s book as he remembered eating with the other man during that year in the time chamber. As the last bowl was placed down with a clatter, Trunks leaned back in the seat and let out a sigh of contentment.

“See—told you it was good,” Raditz said as he patted his own stomach

Trunks absently nodded. “The food in the palace doesn’t even compare,” he said thoughtfully.

The dark-haired saiyan laughed. “A few years ago, the prince insisted the entire menu selection be altered to conform with exact dietary guidelines for putting on an maintaining muscle in order to keep all the residents in ideal shape.”

“Vegeta did that?” Trunks asked, blinking. His father had never seemed to particularly care about what he was eating, but then again, Trunks never exactly paid much attention to the eating habits of the man, either.

“Yes. Prince Vegeta takes his training very seriously.”

Some things changed, while others remained the same, it seemed.

They left the establishment after waving at Squach and took off into the air. At first, Trunks thought they’d be headed back to the palace, but he was soon proven wrong with Raditz veered off.

“Where are we going? I thought you wanted to train and work some of that off.”

“Some place a little more real.”

They eventually landed outside of a massive open air complex. It was different than the domes of the imperial training grounds frequented by elites and royals. There were no walls to keep anyone out or in, merely a string of buildings separating different spaces that were further sectioned off with elevated walkways and terraces where saiyans moved and conversed with one another safely out of range of stray blasts.

Trunks hesitantly entered the training yard behind Raditz but besides a few inquiring looks, no one said anything or approached him. It was strange, but not unwelcome. As they went deeper into the complex, he noticed a few of the areas appeared to be cordoned off along with a smattering of power levels closer to Raditz’s than anyone else there.  _ Elites, _ he realized. There were perhaps a dozen saiyan elites and he couldn’t help wandering over in their direction. He looked out from the walkway and down at the small groups that were gathered. They hadn’t noticed his presence and he could see that they appeared to be teaching small groups of third and second class saiyans. 

“Come on, Trunks,” Raditz said, his voice carrying so that the group closest to him, heard. It must have been his name that caught their attention because suddenly they were all looking in his direction. The elite leading that group was a female. He couldn’t make out her features terribly well from that distance, but she had her hair pulled back away from her face and he thought her eyes were dark like the rest of their people.

“What’s the prince doing here?” he heard someone ask, but he was already turning away to follow behind Raditz.

He rarely went to the elite training grounds anymore, preferring to avoid the other prince as well as the prying eyes of the nobles as they watched him. While there were plenty of saiyans here, it seemed as though once they got over the cursory glance, they ignored him entirely.

It was somewhat . . . freeing and as he stepped into a ring with Raditz, he couldn’t help the small smile that his lips pulled as they stretched out their muscles in preparation for their spar. He felt his back twinge slightly, but it didn’t really hurt.

“I didn’t ride you too hard, earlier, did I?” Raditz asked softly as he came to stand close. 

Trunks looked up with a raised brow. “Hoping you’ll win, this time?”

The dark-haired saiyan let out a guffaw. “Oh, I’m not that dense. I just wouldn’t want an unfair advantage.”

“I’m fine.”

“As you say,” Raditz said with a crack of his neck before falling into a fighting stance.

Trunks did the same and things were still and quiet for a few seconds before they both phased from view and came at one another. The prince kept his power level low—perhaps thirty five thousand, but it was still high enough that he heard various scouters beeping shrilly in the surrounding area. He didn’t want to go much higher than that as it would not only make Raditz unable to keep up with him, but also might destroy the scouters in the vicinity.

The king hated when he did that.

He gracefully turned this way and that, bypassing the oncoming flurry of blows and keeping that rather smug look on his face as he did it. 

“See the way his eyes move  _ not _ on his opponent's hands, but on his shoulders and pectorals,” someone said behind them. “The prince is anticipating his partner's moves by looking for subtle shifts in the muscles and he’s able to easily dodge the hits because he can already see them coming.”

“That’s—That’s amazing,” someone else said.

“Prince Trunks has clearly seen many battles,” the first stated.  _ Female, _ he realized. “I saw him when he fought Frieza and he utilized this skill set in that battles—short, though it was.”

“Did he really transform, my lady? Was he really the . . .”

“He was. He is. It was the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen.”

Whatever response there was to that, Trunks didn’t hear it as Raditz let out a loud yell which drowned out most everything else. Trunks moved to the side as the punch rushed by him and with the elite’s stomach presented so well to him, how could he not generate a blast powerful enough to wipe out a city and send it directly into the other man’s rib cage?

Raditz flew back, hitting the wall with a loud thud, but thankfully whatever material it was made of hardly cracked under the pressure.

“Oh, Great Ancestor! That blast should have . . .”

“That is Raditz, son of Bardock, if I’m not mistaken,” the woman said patiently. “He is a super elite. He’s fine.”

Trunks floated a few feet off the ground, his arms crossed as he watched Raditz. The saiyan elite hauled himself up from the ground and his eye twitched as he came at Trunks once more. This time, the prince allowed him close—close enough for his lover to see the smug smirk on his face as his arms came around the taller saiyan and his elbows locked over the dark-haired saiyan’s throat.

“Hy—”Raditz grunted as his air was cut off by the hold.

“Still think you have an unfair advantage?” Trunks breathed out quietly into Raditz's ear. His lover stunk of sweat and anger and the prince let out a snort as his hold tightened even further.

The elite eventually slapped his arm three times and Trunks easily released him. Raditz once more fell to the ground, his breath a gasping thing that nearly brought Trunks down to his side to check on him. 

He didn’t though. Unlike the elite grounds where there was some semblance of privacy in shielded areas, these open air spaces allowed anyone who care to watch, the option. Perhaps on another day, it wouldn’t have mattered but the woman who had spoken, the elite lady from before stood on the walkway with her . . . class watching. Raditz wouldn’t appreciate being made to look so weak before other third-classes and especially not in front of the noble woman.

As it was Trunks looked up at the small crowd and raised a brow as the half dozen third classes took a noticeable step back in the face of his scrutiny. The only one to remain where they were was the woman. He recognized her as the lady from before and just as their eyes met, she lept off the catwalk and landed gracefully before him.

She was a petite woman that would have topped out just below his chin and he swallowed uncomfortably as he took in her features. Pale skin, dark eyes and long dark  _ straight _ hair. She approached him just as Raditz got back to his feet.

“I hope you do not mind my group watching you fight, Prince Trunks,” she said. “They have always been taught to mind their own business when it comes to training, but I find it is helpful for them to learn new things by seeing specific skills in action.”

“I don’t—I don’t mind at all,” he muttered, his voice catching slightly as he looked her over. 

His less than dignified response seemed to trigger something in Raditz because the other saiyan stepped forward between them and faced the woman.

“You interrupt my training with the prince but do not bother to introduce yourself. Not terribly  _ high-class,” _ he said and Trunks felt his brow furrow at the tone of his lover’s voice.

She sent the taller saiyan a wide placid smile. “How thoughtless of me,” she said. “You are, of course, correct, Raditz  _ son _ of Bardock.”

Trunks moved to Raditz's side and the girl gave a bow of deference. “I am Lady Celera of House Leekin and it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

Her voice was pretty like a wind chime and the prince felt his face becoming flushed as he blinked down at her.

“It is a shame,” she continued. “That you’ve kept yourself well away from many of the more public areas of the palace, Prince Trunks, or we would have met sooner.”

The more she spoke, the more the resemblance to Mai faded. The human girl hadn’t possessed an elegant bone in her body. She’d lived surviving day to day with little thought for much else. The Lady Celera was . . . she was a polished noble woman who was clearly used to the finer things in life . . . and getting her way.

“I’m still getting used to being here on Vegeta-sei,” he said as he regained his senses and left the wisp of Mai’s memory behind.  

“Well, I hope to see more of you around here. The third-classes would learn much from watching you fight.”

He didn’t glance at Raditz, but instead nodded. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” he said with a nod.

She smiled and gave another bow. “I hope to see you again soon, Prince Trunks,” she said before turning and launching herself back up onto the walkway where her students waited.

Raditz let out low growl that had Trunks turning to him. “What the hell is going on with you?” he asked.

The older saiyan's lips twisted into a sneer. “Should I not be asking you that when you’re all but falling over yourself in front of her?”

The prince bit of his knee-jerk response. He looked away. Raditz was right—he shouldn't have acted that way in front of his lover. “She—she reminded me of someone for a second there," he said lamely. "But . . . she’s not the same.”

Raditz sent him a withering look before leaning in. “I  _ told  _ you they would be sniffing after you.”

The prince sighed. “I don’t give a shit about her,” he said seriously. “I’m not staying on this planet for _her_.”

The dark-haired saiyan eyed him for another second before finally nodding shallowly. “Then let’s get back to it. I expect a boost in my power level after this.”

Trunks rolled his eyes but nodded and the pair once more took on their stances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I more than doubled the length of this chapter from what it was. I know this took like a week for me to post but it needed the beefing up.
> 
> Also, here is Raditz in his new Red Guard captain's uniform and I'm not sure if I posted a picture of Bardock for this fic in his department head uniform(which he's not currently sporting seeing as he quit but who cares) or not, but I think this particular image probably better explains why King Vegeta has that expression?
> 
>   
>    
> 


	20. Chapter 20

Bulma pursed her lips as she spoke with the Capsule Corp lawyers. She’d ported through Vegeta-sei’s deep space satellites to connect with Earth and now she’d find out if she was staying or heading back home.

“It’s quite generous, Miss Briefs,” the woman said, adjusting her glasses as she and the others paged through the lengthy documents. 

“Too generous?” she asked.  _ “Suspiciously _ generous?”

One of the others spoke up. “Ma’am, we’ve combed through this multiple times. The only caveat that is raising any red flags is the requirement that you personally stay on the planet to oversee the development and construction of the new ships and devices.”

Bulma couldn’t help falling back into a nervous habit of hers of rubbing the skin of her cheek when she was deep in thought. She’d probably get premature wrinkles, but that was far from the center of her thoughts. The Capsule Corp VP could be entirely self-centered at times— _ most _ of the time, but she generally at least  _ tried _ to live in reality and didn’t _ truly _ believe that the Earth—or galaxy—actually revolved around her. However she couldn’t help but feel as though there was something going on—and that something involved her staying put on Vegeta-sei. 

King Vegeta had been quite complimentary during their first meeting and now these contracts were weighted heavily in Capsule Corps’ favor. It was an offer that no company would refuse. And Raditz had been entirely closed lipped about what was going on in the king’s mind to make such an offer. 

He’d only said, “King Vegeta does not make bad deals.”

Which did the exact opposite of settling her mind.

“Do we make the deal, Miss Briefs?” the lawyer asked and Bulma hesitated only a few seconds before giving a decisive nod.

“Have dad sign the necessary paperwork and seal it. The king informed me that another of their phase four tech cruisers has just completed construction and is ready to go. Speak to our employees and put together a team of people who would be willing to come here and work on an eight month contract.”

“Only eight months?”

Bulma nodded. “The gravity here is ten times that of earth. Humans need to wear special bracelets that cancel out the gravity, but it’s not something they can wear for more than eight months before their bodies start experiencing ill-effects.”

She saw them look down at her own bare wrists and she shrugged. “One of the saiyans helped me . . . train my body to withstand the gravity—and that’s something we can look into if any of them would like to extend their time here, but I don’t require that level of commitment in the offset. The ship will take three months to arrive and will have the first contractual deposit.”

The lawyer hummed in agreement. “Yes, Miss Briefs. We’ll make sure everything lines up.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Good bye.”

They said their own farewells and the connection was cut.

Bulma sighed and looked around her office—something that was still strange to her. Raditz had said there would be labs set up for her, but she’d expected the bare minimum, not half a department and an office, with her damn name printed beside the door.

She didn’t believe for a second that the king was just being nice. After Trunks’ reaction to her presence and simply the way the saiyans continued to eye her with a strange mix of curiosity and revulsion—it was enough to put anyone on edge.

Bulma looked over the screen that displayed the Capsule Corp.'s galactic monetary portfolio. The number fluctuated slightly as her people made connections and purchased materials for the fleet of gravity chambers that they’d been paid to produce. It was an experiment at the moment. They’d been paid in imperial credits—quite a few of them—which were worthless on Earth at the moment, but spent like the good old dollar bill out among the stars. 

As it was, the raw materials for the chambers were being brought in while CC was taking the financial hit paying the engineers and manufacturers for their labor. If this worked and Capsule Corp. was able to spread out into the Saiyan Empire and even beyond, it would be money well spent.

There was a knock on her door and she couldn’t help quirking a smile. There was only one person on this planet that would physically knock on her door.  _ Speaking of beyond . . . _

Trunks walked in and she smiled at him before getting up from behind her desk. He still looked far too handsome in the uniform that the king insisted he wear as a prince.

And that was another thing.  _ Prince _ Trunks.

She reached up and gave him a swift hug which he returned before they pulled away. 

“I know you’re busy being a prince and all, but you could find a little time to spend with your best friend,” she said with a good-natured smile.

He shrugged sheepishly. “Raditz has been taking me to all these little places around the capital. It’s not the historic battlefields or statues that are most exciting, but all the little markets, food stands, and commoner training grounds that he seems to prefer . . . though I think for that last one, he just likes seeing me beat people up.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Saiyans,” she said before giving him a questioning look. “I thought that other prince was the one who would be showing you around—that’s what the king said anyway.”

“Yeah, I don’t really see Vegeta around too often,” Trunks said after a moment.

That was more than Bulma could say. She’d seen the king and Trunks plenty but this other prince was practically a ghost. Some of the techs said he spent all his time on the training grounds trying to surpass the Trunks. He’d apparently all but abandoned any other responsibility besides training to be stronger.

She said as much. “I suppose he’s too busy training—can’t say I’m surprised. After learning about you and Goku—and now being here, I guess fighting is the saiyan M.O.”

Trunks tilted his head. “Well, you’re not far off.”

Which meant that it _was_ the saiyan M.O., but Trunks as a half-breed didn’t quite fit in that mold. There was something dark in his past that he never spoke of—a drive towards greater power that wasn’t driven by instinct, but by a need that transcended all other wants and desires. She could never get him to open up about it—and any attempt always lead to silence—but she knew that whatever it was . . . it would hurt everyone to know of it.

She pasted an unconcerned expression on her face and snorted before leaning in. “You know, I heard all kinds of things about you while I was on my way here.”

“What kind of things?” he asked dubiously

She tapped her chin theatrically. “Oh, I don’t know—maybe something about a _God-King_ proposing marriage to you?”

Trunks immediately flushed scarlet and she burst out laughing.

“Oh my god, Bulma! I’m not—not getting married to that guy.”

“Not as handsome as Raditz?” she asked, elbowing him in the stomach.

Trunks appeared to be choking on air at the moment so she took pity on him and walked away towards the sitting area to the side. She flopped down on the sofa and motioned him over. He sat down across from her and she hit a couple of buttons on a pad.  Within seconds, a droid floated out of a panel in the wall and served them coffee—an import that she was grateful to have thought of before leaving Earth.

“Anyway, Trunks you’re just in time. I’ve just approved the contracts between Capsule Corp. and Vegeta-sei.”

“You . . . you what?” he asked slowly.

She pursed her lips in pride. “King Vegeta made us a very generous offer so I’ll be staying around for a while to oversee the retrofit and then construction of new ships. I’m also planning to offer to upgrade the speed. Those phase four ships are fast, but I’ve made faster. I’m sure the king won’t mind tacking that on to the purchase order.”

Trunks swallowed audibly. “I thought you were just here to . . . I don’t know check on me and then you would go back the Earth.”

“So did I," she said with a shrug. "But I’m a businesswoman, Trunks. I run day to day operation of the largest tech firm on Earth. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t at least take their offer before my board. They approved it and so have I.”

Trunks’ expression was apprehensive.

“What exactly has you so worried?” she asked, because this was the same face he’d made when he’d seen her with the king. Something had spooked him, but he was still refusing to say what it was.

“I just . . . the people here . . . they don’t mean to be—be dangerous, but they’re all very strong," he said, tripping over his words. "One of them could hurt you and it would be an accident, but it still wouldn’t change the outcome.”

She raised a brow. “Everyone here has been very careful, Trunks. With the exception of the odd funny look here or there, no one has been outright rude.”

“That’s because the king has you protected in this bubble," he said, lips thinning in irritation. "The people of the science department—most of them aren’t very powerful, but they are strong enough to defend you if a problem arises. But he’s never even let you out of the palace complex—for good reason.”

Bulma blinked, realizing that it was true. She hadn’t really noticed because she’d been busy working with Earth and Saiyan lawyers to set up the fledgling galactic variation of Capsule Corp along with perfecting the gravity technology before fully presenting it to the king.

The Saiyan Empire's science division was a sprawling city in and of itself where the best and brightest minds from around the galaxy were gathered doing research, learning, and teaching. Everything she’d needed or asked for had been provided and she’d not even had to leave—or even thought to leave.

The blue haired woman sighed. “I suppose you’re right, but it doesn’t change the facts of the situation and that is that I’m in charge of this project and I agreed to see it through.”

“I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You’re worried about nothing, Trunks," she said with a dismissive wave. "How about this, I’ll stay in the complex unless I’m with you. As you said, this is a nice safe bubble for me to work in. If I don’t go out, then there won’t be any trouble.”

Trunks bit his lip before nodding. “Okay, just . . . just stay here.”

Bulma nodded but then looked slightly guilty.

“What is it?” he asked

“So . . . there’s this guy.”

Trunks' jaw dropped open as he turned a peculiar shade of green. “I’m not giving you dating advice.”

Bulma shot him a withering look. “As if I would ask  _ you. _ I can bag myself a man anytime I like—without the help of a hermit.”

Trunks snorted but leaned back against the sofa cushion. “So if it’s not a date you’re looking for, then what’s up?”

“I’ve been hearing about this saiyan—Bardock. He’s Goku and Raditz’s dad and is supposed to be some super genius around here.”

The half-breed nodded. “I’ve heard of him, but I’ve never met him personally.”

“Everyone was saying he was going to come back to work for the science department, but he never did,” she said softly, as though divulging some secret gossip.

Trunks looked thoughtful. “Last I heard, he got into a disagreement with the king and resigned.”

“Right, I heard the same, but I found some of his files in the system. He’s not just a geneticist but an inventor too.”

“So?” the prince asked.

“ _'So?'_ " Bulma repeated with a roll of her eyes. "I’m trying to build a _brand_ out here, Trunks. More importantly, I’m trying to establish Capsule Corp. with some legitimacy. I’ve been looking to add saiyans to our payroll, but the best ones all work for the king!”

“Don’t  _ you _ work for the king?" he asked with a raised brow. "I mean, your office is in the government’s own science division.”

“Contractor, technically,” she corrected. “I made it very clear that he can make requests and submit purchase orders, but I’m not at his beck and call every time he needs a new toy.”

Trunks laughed. “I bet that went over well.”

“He was actually very professional about it,” she said with a sniff. “Anyway, I’m basically renting these offices and labs at a very reduced rate until the company can establish a legal presence on Vegeta-sei and within the market of the empire.”

“What does that have to do with Bardock?”

“He doesn’t work for the government anymore.”

Trunks nodded in understanding. “Ah. I see. You want to hire him.”

“Precisely. I was very impressed by his work, and if he’s not working as a geneticist anymore, then maybe he’d like to go back to engineering.”

“He wasn’t just a geneticist, though. He was a major political player for a while there. Since he left, the king has started grooming Raditz to do the same. It could be a lot of baggage, Bulma. Not to mention that he may not want to come back.”

“Well, all I can do is ask. So will you go with me?”

Trunks sighed. “I guess since it’s really out of the way, it won’t matter too much.”

“Great! Find out from Raditz where he went and we’ll go tomorrow.

 

* * *

  
  


Bardock looked over his second pod. It had been intended for Raditz initially, however his son wanted to stay and Bardock was the last person to force him to do anything. He grimaced. Two decades of this and what had he accomplished? The savior was here—declared a prince, and Kakarot . . . thankfully he was still safe back on Earth.

The king could make any threat that he liked, but in the end, no one had the power to defeat Bardock’s son excluding Prince Trunks and that young man was unlikely to turn on his friend no matter want King Vegeta told him.

He’d take the pod to Earth so he could at least see his youngest son. Perhaps he’d stay there, perhaps he’d leave and go find his brother in the Seijin Province.

“Are you sure you wish to leave?” someone asked.

The third class turned around and caught sight of a lone figure standing in the doorway of the small hangar. He recognized her instantly—there were very few saiyans that wouldn’t know their former queen on sight.

“Lady Turna,” he said in greeting with a nod of his head, though he didn’t bow as they were close to similar status. Perhaps they should form a club for the former lovers of the king.

“Nothing is stopping me from leaving,” he said in answer to her question.

“Yes, but is it what you  _ want?” _ she asked. “You’ve worked quite hard these last two decades, but now you’re throwing it all away.”

Bardock let out a derisive snort. “I’m not inclined to pay what it would cost me to stay.”

“If I remember correctly,” she said with a raised brow. “The king is a rather generous lover.”

He grimaced. So they were going there. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

Turna wasn’t impressed. “Why? Because I was married to the man? I hardly think that qualifies me to make any kind of judgment. We never fully bonded and he discarded me easily enough.”

Her tone was dismissive, but he remembered the way she’d been escorted out of the palace for all to see. He remembered how the king had shamed her by declaring her genes defective and unworthy of the royal house. He remembered how the people—those of the lowest classes—had mourned the loss of a queen who’d actually tried to make a difference in their lives.

“Because it’s none of your business,” he said after a moment.

She crossed her arms before her. “Perhaps not, but you running away has caused quite the stir among the noble houses.”

“I imagine they are celebrating,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Certainly some are,” she said with a shallow nod. “However the smart ones can already see that the king is grooming your son Raditz to take your place among the political spheres—perhaps in  _ other _ areas as well.”

Bardock flinched. It was a disgusting thought that had crossed his own mind as well, but he tried not to dwell on it for any length of time. 

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

She tilted her head before smiling. “I’m here on behalf of several houses to ask you to stay.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why? None of you have made any secret of the fact that you hate my existence.”

“What we hate is having our power and positions usurped,” she said with a tsk. “You may be a convenient target of our ire, but that’s only because no one would dare attack the king directly.”

Of that he was aware. “That doesn’t explain why you’re speaking to me,” he said. “I don’t have any power—no place within the palace. Not anymore.”

She watched him carefully and he knew that even though she’d withdrawn herself from politics publicly, that she had to be aware of what was going on between he and the king . . . she also seemed to be aware that it was  _ him _ that had left the king rather than the other way around as most assumed . . . and she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t know that the king would welcome him back. 

“Truthfully, we’ve noticed that in your extended absence, several departments within the science division have begun to crumble. Other . . . houses who wish to see more  _ fundamental _ change have been making inroads into those departments and are slowly destroying them. They hadn’t dared to do so with you there, but even with the competent people you placed, they are still mostly lower classes that can not stand up to the elites.”

She was speaking of the sects that supported the monarchy but hated the changes being made by King Vegeta. They wanted things to return to the days when they purged planets and the third classes were all but slaves to the higher classes. Bardock could not help the scowl that crossed his face. He’d hated seeing divisions that he’d devoted a rather sizable chunk of his life wither away as they were, but there was little he could do outside the palace.

“House Leekin has always been in support of education reform and the development of that division,” she said.

Bardock snorted remembering the days when he’d supported that house. “You supported reform so long as you were in control, but I seem to remember your uncle heavily disavowing it when I was placed in charge of the project.”

Just as he remembered his relationship with that House souring, he remembered the reason why. House Leekin and its supporters had embraced the changes, but they were still noble houses—change could be made, so long as they oversaw it . . . controlled it. And they’d been livid, he remembered. Death threats and even the occasional assassination attempt had followed for years afterwards. 

She shrugged, entirely unrepentant at the implication. “Those days have long since past, though, haven’t they?”

He snorted. “Yeah, no poison in my food for  _ at least _ the last few years.”

“I never condoned those actions, you know,” she thoughtfully. “But you should know . . . if they’d  _ really _ wanted you dead, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

Bardock grimaced. It was something he’d thought about on occasion. There always seemed to be someone closeby to find him before the poison spread—sometimes even the king, himself. They were enough to inflict pain, but not kill. It was why he’d never really been angry about it. Death was part of life—especially saiyan life.

“I suppose not,” he said placidly. “But then it was never about me, was it? Not about reform or power . . . not for you. It was all to hurt the king—just like you’re trying to do now.”

Because, while Lady Turna never got her hands dirty, he was aware that it was never any of the other department heads that were targeted, and it had only really started after the king had ended all his other relationships. Perhaps it wasn’t her, but her supporters, but the fact that she was here, speaking to him . . . She was planning something.

Her expression was entirely serene. “I don’t care about the king,” she said with a practiced neutrality. “I care about the departments that are falling apart. If you won’t return to the government, then I would like to offer you a position within our organization.”

His head tilted. “The charity?”

She nodded. “House Leekin’s Power Level Expansion Program could use you. We are currently extending our own education options—”

“No.”

Turna didn’t seem surprised by his answer. Perhaps on another day, Bardock wouldn’t have called her out, but every pause in his work was another minute longer he had to spend on Vegeta-sei and so he wasn’t feeling entirely charitable at the moment. 

“We both know this farce of an offer is just a way for you to get under Vegeta’s skin,” he said, his voice harsh. “He won’t see you so you’re trying to use me to get to him. I’m not interested in being the rope in your tug-of-war.”

Her eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second in anger before smoothing out once more. “Not everything is about him and not everyone is out to hurt someone else. Sometimes people just do things because it’s the right thing to do.”

He remembered when she’d said such things long ago as a young queen . . . remembered the way he’d almost idolized her.

“And this?” he asked tiredly. “This is the right thing?”

Her lips thinned. “You may not care about increasing your class because  _ everyone knows _ that you’re strong, but the other third classes—they aren’t like you or your son,” she said with a shake of her head. “It’s not that easy for them, but you don’t even recognize when the king is  _ manipulating _ you. He’s so worried about losing power that he would willfully keep the second and third classes from even the most basic education—”

“You think I don’t know that?” he cut in, cutting off her rant. “You think I’m blind to the ignorance of the low classes? I fucking  _ lived _ it.”

She bared her teeth. “Then you should be first in line to help me.”

Bardock swallowed and looked the woman over again. That—that passion of her’s was what had made her a popular. She had always been the very epitome of breeding and class, and she’d been a beautiful and loved queen. More importantly, she’d been respected.

He shook his head. “I can’t step back into this—especially not now.”

“Why?” she asked, and he heard the anger and confusion in her voice.

What could he say? That he’d seen the future and knew he needed to keep his distance lest his heart shatter inside his chest? He was already so close to that precipice. He needed to leave the planet soon or he’d be forced to watch Vegeta embrace his new lover.

“It’s not my place—not anymore,” he said quietly.

Her eyes lingered on him and in that moment, he felt that . . . Perhaps they were more alike than he’d ever wanted to admit.

“I hope you’ll at least think on my offer,” she murmured.

Bardock nodded but said nothing more as the woman headed towards the door. She reached out to turn the handle, but a knock sounded. Lady Turna looked back at him and Bardock sighed.

“People all day today,” he muttered before walking towards her. He opened the door and blinked in confusion at the sight of a blue-haired girl standing in his doorway in a lab coat.

Lady Turna was likewise at a loss for words.

“Bardock, son of Kartock?” the girl asked.

The third-class raised a brow before nodding slowly. It was then that he noticed another person behind her. A lavender-haired man wearing the uniform of the royals.

“Prince Trunks,” he said in disbelief.

Turna stepped closer and saw the young man as well.

The girl seemed to realize that he had company. “If this is a bad time—”

“I was just leaving. Again, please think on my offer,” Turna said before slipping past the sentient girl. She gave a brief bow towards Trunks before hurrying away. The prince watched her with narrowed eyes, and Bardock could see the suspicion on his face that she hadn’t introduced herself.

He did it for her. “That’s Lady Turna of House Leekin.”

Neither of them seemed phased by the information, and he wasn’t about to go down that rabbit hole so he stepped aside and allowed them through the doorway and into his garage. The place was really not fit for distinguished guests, and now with Prince Trunks and this bright girl, it seemed especially dank.

The girl didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Her eyes glided over the mess as though it was a normal state of things. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Bulma Briefs, Vice President of Capsule Corp.”

He eyed her outstretched palm in confusion before reaching out and touching it hesitantly. She shook it vigorously before letting go. Her hands were soft and small—very un-saiyan like. Prince Trunks was much larger than the petite woman and stood watching them cautiously.

“Wow, you really do look just like Goku,” she said and his eyes slid back to her. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “His saiyan name is Kakarot.”

His head tilted and suddenly she had his attention. “My son? You know my son?”

“He’s one of my very best friends,” she said enthusiastically.

Bardock nodded in understanding. Raditz had told him that Kakarot had bonded with the Earthlings which meant this girl was one of them . . . and human. He looked back up at the prince, taking in his blue eyes and lavender hair. Colors similar to the girl.

He said nothing about that, however. 

“What can I do for you, Miss Briefs?” he asked, already wanting to shove them both out the door. 

She smiled brightly. “Well, I have a proposition for you, if you have a moment.”

Bardock didn’t roll his eyes but he did sigh. “I don’t, and you’re wasting your time. I’m planning to leave the planet in a few days—”

“What? Why?” she asked suddenly.

He grimaced. “That’s really none of your business.”

“I just mean . . . You’re so smart—everyone in the science division says your the most intelligent saiyan alive.”

Bardock couldn’t stop his snort. “If that were true, I wouldn’t have made so many mistakes.”

She licked her lips. “Well, that is, I know you resigned from you positions in the government, but I don’t work for the government—not directly, anyway.” He just raised a brow so she continued. “I’d like to offer you a position in our company.”

_ Why were so many people crawling out the woodwork now? _ he wondered before shaking his head. “Look I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested.”

The girl, Miss Briefs seemed terribly crestfallen at his answer, though the prince didn’t seem surprised. Prince Trunks was eyeing him with outright curiosity, though. His eyes never stopped moving over his form, the scar on his face, or the engine grime on his hands.

“Well, if you change your mind, here is my comm code,” she said, holding out a slim pad. He sighed but grabbed his own comm pad and waved it over hers. Contact information was exchanged, and he dumped the pad back on the table.

“If that’s all,” he said, gesturing towards the door. He was going to lock the damn thing after them, too.

She nodded. “Well thank you for your time.”

The pair of pale-haired creatures left, and Bardock turned away from the door and walked back towards the pod. He only needed to gather a few more things and then he’d be ready to leave. His thoughts and goals were fairly ordered and he nodded to himself. He was about to head out to the market when pain slithered into his brain.

He used to scream when he had these visions—it’s why he’d once had the moniker of ‘Crazy Bardock’ but these days he was able to freeze on the spot and Raditz had told him that while it was noticeable, it was not the horrific scene that it used to be.

Not like the scene he was envisioning now.

_ Oh Great Ancestor _ . . .

The arcosian smirked cruelly and maliciously as he held out his hand and sent the energy blast hurtling down to the surface. The king . . .  _ Vegeta _ . . . he could do nothing and Raditz . . . the captain of the Red Guard did his duty and stepped before the blast to try and shield the king. It wasn’t enough. They, along with everyone around were engulfed and obliterated.

_ No No No No! _

Bardock shook his head and came out of the vision with a cry before falling down to the ground. His breathing was deep and his hands trembled as he fought to get his power level under control. Only a few seconds passed before he sprinted out after the girl and the Prince. They hadn’t gotten far as they’d been surrounded by a mass of saiyans exclaiming over their scouters exploding.

The girl was looking on in confusion, but the Prince’s eyes were squarely on him as he sped towards them. The lavender-haired saiyan stepped between him and the Briefs girl, his expression suspicious, but Bardock halted and nodded towards them.

“I accept the position,” he said, voice still slightly out of breath.

The girl’s head popped around Trunks’ shoulder and she grinned. “We’re so happy to have you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I _am_ working on the Bardock/King Vegeta side story. Thing is, their relationship, initially at least, was pretty much based entirely on sex so I'm having to write out all these sex scenes and that shit takes a while. I'm hoping to have the first 'chapter' up this week. Their first time together isn't super romantic at all, but it sort of establishes that dynamic a bit more for those interested in the pairing.


	21. Chapter 21

Turles was still as he looked through the viewport of Vegeta-sei as his craft came in to land at the imperial spaceport. It had been nearly forty years since he’d last been here. The sky was still the same crimson red, but the palace and the capital . . .

They’d all but exploded in his absence. He eyed the sprawling complex that surrounded the imperial palace with interest. He’d heard rumors of what King Vegeta had been up to since breaking with Frieza, but Turles’ own territory was so far removed from the expanding Saiyan Empire that it was hard to get accurate information.

The ship landed with a soft thud but he waited to get up until one of his servants, Grish, spoke up. “We have arrived, Lord Turles. An envoy from the king is here to escort you to the palace.”

He nodded, standing up and allowing the man to re-affix his cape to the armor he wore. He put his scouter back on and activated it. As he exited the ship, the device beeped and assimilated the power levels of the most powerful fighters on the planet. Most were in the direction of the palace. The king, and the two princes would assuredly be three of the higher ones, if not the highest—but there was no one even in the vicinity of Frieza’s power level

And none of the royals had come to greet him.

Perhaps he should have been irritated—taken it as a slight or a sign of disrespect, however the more pragmatic side of him was aware that King Vegeta knew next to nothing about a self-proclaimed saiyan lord that had disappeared forty years ago.

He smiled as he reached up and turned his scouter off.

The envoy turned out to be a small group of saiyans—none of which sported the armor of Frieza’s army, but rather a sleek uniform of various colored over-pieces layered with grey body suits. There was a certain amount of theater in the picture they presented—that of a rich and established empire.

There were five saiyans in front of him in total. A middling amount, and judging by their power-levels, these were lower level clerks. There was no one of power or position amongst them.

“Lord Turles,” the man in front mumbled, inclining his head shallowly. “I am Peppes, son of Cress. We welcome you back to Vegeta-sei.”

Turles’ brow furrowed, but his expression otherwise did not change. Grish, whom had been standing behind him, stepped back slightly. The envoy’s tone was one of boredom, as though greeting Turles was a chore that he was above. The saiyan would  _ tolerate _ disrespect from the king—for now, but not from an insect.

“I am happy,” he began as he allowed some of his power to flow through him. “To have returned.”

There was no visible change in his power—no flame of ki or cracking in the earth. There was only the way the envoy’s scouter all be wept before exploding.

The man shook his head frantically as he looked down at the shattered remains of his scouter. He turned to the others, but theirs were in a similar state.

“I—I—Please come this way! We will go directly to the palace!” he said hurriedly.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said placidly before walking forward towards the vehicle they’d left parked in front of the ship. Others on the platform watched them with interest. He stuck out, not only because of his power, but also because of his armor. No one here wore the old style of armor anymore, it seemed.

He turned to Grish, “Secure transport and coordinate with the palace to receive the rest of our people.”

Grish nodded even as Peppes looked over.

“The rest?” the man echoed.

Turles turned back to look at the clerk. Peppes flinched but didn’t back away.

“I rule over a hundred planets,” he said, an imperious tone in his voice. “You did not think I would come all the way here with but  _ one _ servent.”

He could tell that Peppes had thought exactly that. Perhaps the people of the palace thought him a pretender to power, but even now, he knew rumors of his arrival would begin circulating.

“I—I will see to your entourage, Lord Turles.”

His lips spread into a toothy smile. “You have my thanks.”

The journey to the palace was a short one, but Turles could have flown under his own power at a far faster rate. He wondered at the these niceties sometimes. They were required for some races, he’d admit, but saiyans tended to be a bit more hands one.

Still, they arrived shortly after and he was gratified to find a far bigger welcoming party awaiting him on the steps of the imperial palace. One that included Prince Vegeta. He’d left before the prince had even been born, but one only had to look at that upswept hair along with the arrogant sneer that he wore, to know who he was. 

The pair approached one another and Turles contemplated not bowing to the prince. Truthfully, it was something he’d thought of the entire way here from his own tiny but thriving empire. It was something he’d thought of when he’d proclaimed himself Lord Turles rather than King Turles.

To name himself king was to declare war on Vegeta-sei, and he’d known even then that while the Saiyan Empire was in a state of stalemate with the arcosians, that that wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, someone would come out ahead of that cold war and he’d bet on the saiyans even then.

Just as he bet on them now when he bowed his head in deference to the prince.

“Your highness,” he said before straightening again. “I thank you for your gracious welcome.”

The prince eyed him suspiciously before nodding. “We were overjoyed to hear that one of our finest warriors had decided to return to the mother planet.”

Turles smiled. He’d been making overtures for years to form a greater alliance with Vegeta-sei, but it was only now—for some unknown reason—that the king had finally decided to hear him out. They’d been entirely disdainful of him and his power for decades . . . Power that Prince Vegeta would of course be well aware of now after his display at the landing port. But he didn’t seem nervous at all. Turles’ power didn’t impress him in the slightest.

An interesting thought.

The saiyan lord kept his tone genial. “I wished to offer tribute to the empire’s new prince—as well as my territory’s thanks for his victory over Frieza.”

Prince Vegeta blinked lazily. “It was my impression that your . . . domain was far from the Arcosian Empire—far from  _ any _ empire and thus you were able to stay away from outside conflict.”

Turles nodded. “This is true, however the arcosians were rapidly expanding in all other directions besides the border of the Saiyan Empire. They would have been on my doorstep within the next few cycles.”

The prince considered him in stoic silence before inclining his head and stepping aside. “Prince Trunks is currently occupied with other matters, but he will return to the palace this evening.”

That took the saiyan lord aback. “I thought perhaps he wasn’t on the planet. My scouter didn’t pick up anything that could have . . . handled Frieza.”

Vegeta snorted. “Scouters aren’t all they're cracked up to be these days,” he began before tilting is head. “As I’m sure you know.”

With that, the prince turned back around and began making his way inside. Turles followed, keeping pace with the shorter saiyan. They entered a wing that was clearly designated for guests and a door was opened for them revealing a lavishly appointed if non-descript set of rooms.

He didn't notice a terminal inside and so he turned to the prince. “I require a terminal, Prince Vegeta.”

The prince raised a brow. “While you are a saiyan, you’re rights and privileges as a citizen of the empire have long since been revoked. A terminal would be of little use to you without comm ID.”

He’d thought as much, but he pressed on. “I merely need to use it to locate my brother—if he’s still alive, of course.”

“You’re referring to Bardock?” the prince asked with a strange look on his face.

Turles tilted his head. Why would the prince know of a third-class purging squad member?

“I have . . . no other siblings, my prince.”

Vegeta hesitated but nodded after a few seconds. “Bardock is working for a sentient contractor in one of the labs in the science division.”

The way the prince said it spoke far more about Bardock’s position than the simple words themselves.  _ Prince Vegeta _ was not only aware of Bardock’s existence, but also his location and even his choice of employment. Turles was but a minor lord in the eyes of the saiyan nobility—barely worth greeting at the landing port. Why would a member of the royal family have such knowledge?

The prince apparently noticed his confusion because he spoke again. “Much has happened in your absence, Lord Turles. You may find little to be the way you left it.”

Vegeta gestured to one of his own attendants. “Escort Lord Turles to the Capsule Corp. labs so that he may see his brother.”

The secretary nodded and the prince swept off without another word. Turles watched him go, brow furrowed. Nothing was as he’d thought it would be. He wasn’t sure about the state of the prince’s power or even this mythical savior prince. 

Prince Trunks . . . Not a saiyan name at all.

The secretary stepped forward. “Would you like to visit the labs now, or would you like to take a few hours for rest and refreshment first?” she asked.

“I would see my brother now.”

The secretary nodded. “This way, please.”

They exited the building, but rather than getting into another transport, Turles shook his shead. “It’s faster to fly.”

The secretary was obviously not happy, but nodded nonetheless and kicked off from the ground. Turles followed and off they went towards one of the many complexes that surrounded the palace—-the largest one, in fact.  _ The science division,  _ he realized. He’d heard of it, of course. It was the king’s pet project that encompassed over a dozen governmental departments all centered around technological advancement and intellectual accumulation.

None of this had been there when he’d left. There hadn’t been this sort of prevalence of other sentients either. The massive complex that made up the science division was swarming with them. Saiyans tended to be rather ethnocentric so to see so many off-worlders was something of a surprise.

They entered the main building, passing through the hallways and he heard whispers of  _ Bardock _ as the people working there obviously mistook him for his twin brother. Was Bardock really so well known?

They came to a set of labs and offices with placards reading ‘Capsule Corporation’. The secretary pressed the comm button and a voice sounded through the speaker. 

“Can I help you?” someone asked through the speaker.

“Bardock has a guest.”

Silence followed but within seconds the doors slid open.

The secretary bowed. “I will wait here for you to be done,” she said.

Turles did not acknowledge her but instead stepped inside the brightly lit room. The sight that greeted him was not what he expected. 

Bardock was there, of course, but there was also a blue-haired sentient woman and a lavender-haired man. The trio appeared to have been in the midst of a conversation when he’d arrived, but he cared little about the sentient scientists. He went to his brother and held out his hand.

“My brother, it has been too long.”

Bardock hesitated for a second but took Turles’ hand and the two pulled each other in close. He caught a faint whiff of a scent. So his brother had a lover, huh? Whoever it was hadn’t been around in a while, but it was still rather surprising given Bardock’s near obsessive need to hide himself from others.

They eventually pulled away and merely stared at one another in silent connection.

“Unreal,” the girl muttered, looking between them.  _ “Another _ Goku.”

He turned towards the other two, his eyes immediately zeroing in on the girl once more. While there were certainly similarities between her species and saiyans, she was slim with bright coloring and an open expression. He imagined that most saiyans would be entirely disinterested in her, but he’d been living in the company of other sentients for years and his tastes had long since adapted.

She was . . . very pretty. 

It took him a second, but eventually he pegged her as human. He remembered the planet. His nephew, Kakarot was supposed to have purged it many years ago. When he’d eventually secured the seed for the God Essence Tree, he’d made his way there to use it. A planet purged of sentient life, long forgotten by the warring saiyans and arcosians was the perfect place with which to grow the tree.

He’d arrived there with his crew only to find the planet not only still home to the humans, but thriving. He’d stayed his hand, despite the clamoring of his crew. They’d wanted to use the planet anyway, humans be damned, but he’d instead decided to investigate his nephew’s whereabouts. It was as he was scanning the planet and the system beyond that they’d found it.

A probe.

One of his brother’s design. His crew had brought it aboard and they’d cracked into it, reading the data—his first contact with Vegeta-sei in almost two decades. They’d left the system soon afterwards.

Bardock was continuously monitoring that planet, but for some reason he hadn’t gone to find his son. If Turles had succeeded in planting the tree, his brother probably would have murdered him.

He’d left Earth alone and as he looked at this girl, he was once more appreciative of the soft spot he had for his family. Earth culture wasn’t something he was terribly familiar with, but his ship had skimmed quite a bit of information from the planet’s communications satellites as they’d passed. 

Enough to know to take her hand into his own and press a light kiss to her knuckles.

Her breath caught and she blinked in confusion. He felt her heart rate increase the longer he held her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss . . .”

“Um . . . Bulma,” she said. “Bulma Briefs.”

He recognized the name as having been in the door beneath the company name. So she was the head of this organization.

“Miss Briefs. I apologize for barging into your office. I am Lord Turles of the Seijin Province.”

She seemed to eventually get ahold of herself and she pulled her hand free. “No harm done. You’re Bardock’s brother?”

It was a rhetorical question, of course. Anyone could see that he and Bardock were twins, but he smiled and nodded. “Yes, but it has been many years since I’ve seen him.”

She nodded before turning to the lavender-haired male. “Can you believe it, Trunks? Another guy who looks like Goku—”

“Trunks?” he said quickly cutting her off as he looked towards the man he’d otherwise been ignoring.  _ “Prince _ Trunks?”

The man’s blue eyes weren’t offended even as his lavender tail uncurled from his waist and swayed lazily around his legs.

“I apologize for the disrespect—I had no idea you would be here.”

“Or that I was a half-breed, I suppose,” the prince said lightly.

Turles blinked as he looked— _ really _ looked—at the prince. Yes, it was obvious that Prince Trunks was not pure saiyan, but that . . . how could a half-breed defeat Frieza?

“Apologies again,” he said hesitantly. “It’s just that . . . I have . . . encountered half-breeds before. They’ve all been significantly weaker than their saiyan parent.”

If anyone would know this, Turles would.

Trunks shrugged, unconcerned before turning to Bardock. “I’ll let you and your brother have some time together,” he said before smiling at Bulma. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

She nodded and returned the young man’s smile. Turles eyed them both together and separately. There was something terribly familiar about the way they acted with one another. It wasn’t romantic, but rather more familial.

Looking at Trunks and their relationship, it was clear that the prince must have been half human, but if he was truly the son of Prince Vedera, how did Vedera encounter Earth? Vedera was known to have gone on few purging missions, but nothing nearly that far from Vegeta-sei. The spoiled second prince had thought himself a powerful warrior, but rarely did anything to actually prove it. He’d eventually bitten off more than he could chew and had been killed years ago.

_ Questions for another day, _ he supposed as Trunks left the room.

“Bardock, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” the girl said with a smile. “Spend some time with your brother.”

Bardock seemed unsure at first before eventually nodding. “Come on, Turles. If it’s not too humble for you, we can go to my place.”

“I’ve hardly forgotten my roots, Bardock.”

The secretary stepped forward as they exited to the room but Turles waved her off.

“But Lord Turles—” she began, but he quickly cut her off.

“I was born and raised here. My brother will make sure I get back to the palace.”

The secretary stuttered out more as they walked and he resolutely ignored her—especially when other sentients from the division stopped them repeatedly . . . to speak to Bardock.

“Bardock—uh sir, I had hoped to get your opinion on this flow analysis.”

Bardock looked ready to decline but Turles made a gesture. “By all means,” he said carelessly.

It wouldn’t have been a problem, except other sentients took this as an invitation to step forward to have Bardock check over whatever it was they were working on. As far as he could tell, there were questions ranging from genetics to engineering to social programs.

_ Just what had Bardock been up to these last few decades? _

His brother caught the eyes and seemed to realize what Turles was thinking. He immediately broke off the conversations and excused them, all but dragging his brother from the building. They took off into the air almost as soon as the doors to the building opened.

Bardock’s home was close by, but Turles still enjoyed the flight over his home planet. Things were decidedly different with massive spires reaching for the crimson sky where before there had been little more than hovels. Bardock’s home looked to almost be a throwback to those days. It was in a more run down section of the capital, and the building was pretty shabby.

He’d honestly expected better.

They stepped inside without a word and Bardock turned the lights on. The entire bottom floor of the building appeared to be some kind of hangar or garage. An outdated pod sat to one side with row after row of tables situated against the walls. The surfaces were all covered in tools and half done inventions.

“Some things never change, I see.”

Bardock snorted. “More than you’d think,” he murmured before heading to the metal staircase nestled against the side wall. 

The second floor was clearly the living quarters of a bachelor. The place wasn’t dirty per-se, but the haphazard set of uncoordinated furniture and mismatched dishes and cookery spoke of a man who cared little for material possessions or status.

That ambition still fell on Turles, it seemed.

Bardock headed for the kitchen and opened the cold box. He picked out a couple of ales and handed one over. It was the same rot gut they’d drunk as kids.

“So many years have passed and this is all you’ve managed to achieve?” he asked as he pried the top off and took a swig. It burned grossly just like he remembered but there was a sense of nostalgia that only came from sharing a drink with your brother

Bardock shrugged. “You know me. I was never the one that was going to amount to anything.”

“Is that why your lover left you?” he asked baldly.

His brother actually laughed. “Going right for the jugular, are we?” he asked before flopping down one of the sofas. Turles sat across from him, not caring that his cape would no doubt be a wrinkled mess when it came time to leave.

“I left him, actually,” Bardock said after taking another swig. “Too much damn baggage.”

“Must have been a noble,” he said knowingly. Low-classes tended not to hold onto much, physical or emotional.

His brother’s smile was bitter. “Something like that, yeah. But you didn’t come all the way here to grill me on my non-existent love life.”

Turles sat back, lips pursed. “You’re right, of course. I came because of the prince—the half-breed.”

“Well, you’ve seen him,” Bardock said with a tilt of his head.

The saiyan lord was hardly satisfied. “But not his power.”

Bardock shrugged. “Prince Trunks isn’t exactly the most ostentatious saiyan around. The king also hates it when he breaks so many scouters. They’re working on the problem, but it’ll be some months before every scouter has either been retrofitted or replaced.”

_ Powerful enough to break scouters, huh? _ So at least as powerful as himself—more than that if he’d really killed Frieza. “So . . . he’s really that powerful?” he asked, unsure of which answer he’d prefer.

Bardock hesitated before nodding. “He’s a super saiyan—you’ve never seen power like his before.”

He’d heard rumors that the prince was a super-saiyan, but whispers told over a galaxy’s length of comm units was hardly the same as his brother stating it so clearly. “You know that I’m not the same third-class weakling that I was before,” he said with a swallow, looking for confirmation of his unasked question.

His brother eyed him before inclining his head in understanding. “You’re a lot stronger than you used to be, I admit, but you were obviously never a strong as Frieza or you would have gone after him.”

Turles snorted out a laugh. “You always know just which vein to cut so I bleed out,” he said before continuing. “Yeah, I . . . I ate the fruit of the God Essence Tree—all of them, but even with that power, I knew it was still no match for Frieza. Perhaps in his base form, I could have taken him, but the rumors of his other forms stayed my hand.”

“You would have been right to do so. He came here the second time in his fourth and final form. He was over a hundred and twenty million.”

Turles nearly dropped his drink. “One hundred and twenty—that’s not possible! And you’re saying Prince Trunks—a half-breed—defeated him?”

“Without even trying,” Bardock intoned indifferent to Turles’ internal struggle. “Frieza was vaporized less than five minutes after the attack began.”

“The cosmos must have really hated Frieza to give him such an end.”

Things were quiet for a while after that, the silence comfortable, before Turles spoke again. “How can a half-breed be that strong?”

His brother considered the question for a while, choosing his words carefully as he answered. “Human genetics are incredibly compatible with saiyan genetics, but the core of it is the readmission of traits that were bred out of the saiyan race long ago.”

Bardock had to be speaking of the part of the brain that controlled ethics and morality in their species—it was the most obvious difference that the genetics office had made to their genetic structure after the Great Strife. 

“The temporoparietal junction,” he said flatly. His own was partially developed, but not nearly so much as Bardock’s.

“Yes. I don’t know if Prince Trunks is aware of it, but when he had his tail regrown, the king had him scanned. The junction, specifically on the right side, is entirely unhampered in him just as it is the bulk of the human population. It was slowly eliminated by the genetics office over the last few thousand years in most saiyans.”

Turles licked his lips. “Most . . . But not all,” he said, hating the nobility for yet another reason. Many of them retained some elements of the junction because their genetics had never been outright manipulated by the G.O. But while they liked to tout themselves as separate and above the lower classes, it was obvious from the fact that theirs were also underdeveloped that they’d mingled with the lower classes over time as well.

“No, not all,” Bardock echoed. “But that hardly matters, does it.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “If the ability to—to  _ feel _ something is the secret of the legendary, then you—”

“No Turles,” he said cutting his brother off. “ _ No. _ It was considered a birth defect back then, and this is not something that should be spread around. The king would kill us.”

There was little argument he could give about  _ that. _ “Not if you come with me when I leave.”

Bardock blinked at him in surprise. “What?”

“You can not be happy working in those labs and living in this shithole,” he said with a wave around. “Come back with me to the Seijin province. You wish for more children, do you not? I do as well. We can stop by Earth—take a few women—”

“You are speaking of treason, Turles!” Bardock hissed out.

The saiyan lord shook his head forcefully. “Is it truly treasonous to want something more? To seek a better life away from this toxic sludge of an empire? Vegeta sacrificed millions of saiyans trying to appease that lizard, and now that the arcosians aren’t a threat, what has he done, huh? Has anything really changed for the lower classes? This slum you’re living in is no different than the place we grew up in. His palace has tripled in size while the poorest and weakest of us still have nothing.”

Bardock shook his head. “Things are better—”

“How do you know?”

“Because I  _ made _ them better,” his brother snapped back. “I saw to the department that is educating an entire generation of children. It’s slow, I admit, but progress is being made.”

“Department?” he asked with narrowed eyes. “You’re working for that human woman.”

Bardock sighed. “That . . . is a recent development. I headed up several departments within the government, before . . .”

“Before what?”

His brother made an uncomfortable noise. “The king and I had a disagreement.”

“You . . . and the king.” he repeated dubiously.

“I told you. Things have changed.”

The prince had said something similar. Vegeta had been aware of Bardock which lined up with his brother apparently being some figure in the saiyan government.

“But you're no longer in this . . . position?”

“No, but it was my choice to leave h—my job.”

Turles raised a brow. There were other things going on—things his twin didn’t want to tell him about. There were secrets swirling through this new empire. The king, the two princes, and even his brother were involved. He wondered how deep it went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've just seen the Broly movie . . . and I'm not as original as I thought I was LOL. There are things going on in that movie that I also use in my story later on. I started this fic in 2013 but got inspired by Super and really started working on it towards the end of 2017 and through out 2018. So parts of the story I thought of as my own ideas, are 'canon' now. I may actually change a few surface things to better match the Broly movie's history and make the fic fit a little better with the canon storyline. It was honestly kinda cool to see things that I wrote years ago be shown on a big screen for the fandom they were written for.
> 
> I sometimes get irritated with Toriyama's methods when it comes to ret-conning things and just doing things for the sake of doing them, but he really did a good job with this movie. :D


	22. Chapter 22

Raditz had seen his uncle arrive at the palace. As captain of the Red Guard, he’d been only a few paces behind Prince Vegeta, but he hadn't been noticed by Turles at all. The elite wasn't offended or disappointing by the lack of recognition as h e’d never actually met his uncle. Turles had left Vegeta-sei a year before Raditz’s birth, and so it was hardly surprising that the saiyan lord wouldn't have known him.

The king was antsy about the newcomer. He was, of course, very good at not letting on his emotions, but Raditz had been by King Vegeta’ side when his scouter had nearly shorted out. He’d seen the way the king’s eye had twitched when the power source was identified as Lord Turles.

“Your line continues to surprise me, Raditz,” the king had said before walking away. The prince had raised a brow towards the captain and Raditz had nodded his understanding as they both made their way to the steps of the palace to greet the Lord of the Seijin Province.  Raditz supposed that he should have expected the similarity between his father and uncle—they were twins after all, but he was still taken aback to see this man that looked like his father but acted nothing like him. There was an imperious air to Turles, something so unlike Bardock’s usual tranquility or even the boisterousness of Kakarot.

When he’d rejoined the king, he’d found the man in the one of the many surveillance control rooms that littered the palace. Normally he did not go in, but this time the king had spoken through the door comm.

“Come in Raditz. It’s time you know the full extent of your responsibilities.”

He’d entered the room, but the king had been turned away from him, facing a large screen that was currently playing footage from a camera. The people in the frame obviously had no idea they were being recorded.

The elite's eyes widened as he recognized Bulma’s bright blue hair just before she spoke. “Bardock, why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Spend some time with your brother,” she said in that kindly Earth voice of her’s.

His father hesitated but eventually took her up on her offer. “Come on, Turles. If it’s not too humble for you, we can go to my place.”

He didn’t catch Turles’ response as the pair of them left the room and walked through the halls of the science division. A stream of video angles followed them as they made their way through the building, stopped occasionally by other workers and techs so they could speak to Bardock.

He caught the feint snort of amusement from the king every time Bardock patiently answered a question. Eventually they were able to leave and Raditz had thought that that would be the end of it, but then the king spoken again.

“Bring up the feed for Bardock’s residence.”

Raditz’s mouth had dropped open slightly as the screen changed and sure enough, he recognized his father’s shabby home. He was even more taken aback to see other feeds from various rooms in the building—including Bardock’s bedroom and bathing chamber.

His father and uncle entered the building and made their way up to the second floor. He watched with the king, listening as the conversation progressed and secrets were divulged. His eyes narrowed as they spoke of the biology of their species and the secret of the legendary.

The source of Trunks’ power was said so baldly, but the words paled in comparison to the outcome of so simple a biological change. 

The conversation eventually ended with Bardock all but shoving his brother out the door. His father made his way back up to the second floor. He neatly cleaned up the empty bottles, throwing them down the recycling chute before ascending the last set of stairs to the third floor. Raditz felt his lips thin as his father began to get undressed, but it didn’t go far before the king spoke.

“That’s enough,” he said and the feed was instantly cut, the screen going black for a second before the usual planetary feeds came back up. King Vegeta turned around, his form silhouetted by the glow of the screen. “I’m assuming we understand each other,” the king said quietly.

Raditz grimaced before bowing in submission. “Yes, my king.”

“Good,” he said before walking out of the room. Raditz stayed rooted to the spot for another few moments before approaching one of the techs.

“How long has the king been watching my father like this?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

There was a noise of hesitation. “Sir,” the tech began but his words died when the captain let out a feral growl.

Raditz slammed a fist down onto the terminal.  _ “How long?” _

The tech swallowed. “Decades. Long before I started.”

He felt the bite of his nails as they dug heavily into his palms. The depths of the king’s obsession with his father was something he’d never wanted to know about. There had been gossip and rumors in the palace for years—whispers that the king jealousy coveted a third-class scientist—that Bardock had tried to leave, but the king held onto him with blackmail and threats. Few people, Raditz included, believed such talk. 

What saiyan, let alone a third-class would seek to leave the king? 

But seeing this . . . knowing that even though his father and the king were no longer lovers, that King Vegeta continued to watch Bardock . . . he supposed it wouldn’t be long until Bardock was—was forced back into the king’s bed.

All those conversations over the years suddenly made more sense to him. His father had tried to leave time again, but he never had. Even now, the pod that Bardock had intended to leave in, sat unused in the hangar of his father’s run down building. Raditz had merely thought he’d gotten cold feet again. 

He swallowed uncomfortably before leaving the room. His steps were quiet as he walked the corridors of the palace and made his way to his new office. He grimaced as he sat down. Even his position, he realized, was yet another way for King Vegeta to get under Bardock’s skin.

He’d been an idiot to believe that he’d earned his new rank with his own skills.

The captain cracked his neck in agitation before taking a calming breath. The door comms chimed and he looked up, instantly recognizing the ki signature. Raditz hit the lock on his desk and the door opened revealing the prince.

His lover's alien blue eyes were worried as they looked him over. Trunks came inside and the door shut behind him.

“I felt a spike in your power level and then . . . something was off,” the prince said, concern lacing through his tone.

Raditz felt his lips thin. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just work.” 

The understanding the king had spoken about no doubt included keeping this from Trunks.

“Are you sure?" Trunks asked. "You don’t seem well.”

“Lord Turles is here,” he said  _ but you already know that, of course, _  his mind whispered.

The prince nodded. “Bardock’s brother, right? Yeah I felt him when he landed and then met him in the science division. Seems like an okay guy. Not very saiyan like, but then your whole family is a little off from the norm.”

Raditz gave nothing away in his expression has he thought of the conversation between Bardock and Turles about some junction—a brain thing . . . something that most saiyans had lost, but it seemed to still be around in his own family.

It was the reason they were different from the others.

He got up and moved to stand before Trunks. The prince looked at him in confusion but Raditz said nothing as he leaned in and pressed his mouth to Trunks’. He needed something—anything to take his mind off what he’d just witnessed.

“Raditz? What—” Trunks began, but the captain smothered him again in kisses, pushing at him until his back hit the desk. They couldn’t have sex but he could do other things.

He pulled away, taking silent satisfaction in the prince’s red swollen lips and dazed expression before he dropped to his knees. Trunks’ eyes went wide as Raditz pulled the overcoat open and pulled on the undersuit. Thankfully, Trunks no longer wore the full body suit, but the fastened two-piece.

He made quick work of that and pulled the fabric aside to reveal a half-hard erection surrounded by dark lavender curls. It was perfectly pink and the head had a hint of glistening moisture at the tip.

His mouth was on it before Trunks could say anything else.

“Oh! Oh god, Raditz . . .” he heard as familiar fingers dug into his hair. No longer was Trunks shy about demonstrating his pleasure and preferences during love making. Raditz looked up and met his lover’s eyes, loving the way Trunks couldn't look away from the way his own cock was swallowed down. He sealed his lips and sucked.

Trunks’ knees weakened and Raditz hastily pushed his hips against the desk to hold the other man up.

“Raditz,” the prince said breathily, one arm shaking as it fought to hold him upright against the desk while the other stroked his jaw and hair softly . . . lovingly.

He wanted this prince’s love, he realized. He wanted to be the person that Trunks looked to in all things. He wanted to go to sleep with Trunks and wake up beside him. He would do anything for the other man—for the certainty of his affection being returned. 

He looked up at that beautiful face. 

_ But how far would I go? _ he wondered. He thought of Celera and the calculative lust in her gaze when she looked upon his lover. He thought of how much he wanted to kill her. He knew he’d inherited the ability to feel real emotion from his father, but there was a side of him—the saiyan side—that longed to take and keep what was his. 

The king had . . . had  _ festered _ in this, he realized. Bardock wasn’t the kind to be demonstrative like Trunks. For all that Bardock could feel and care for another, he was still raised as a saiyan. King Vegeta had been chasing Raditz’ father for twenty five years and what he’d seen today was only the surface of a decades long obsession. 

Would he become the same? Would he go to the lengths that the king had gone to to keep the person that meant the most to him?

He gave one last massive suck and Trunks threw his head back and came with a low groan. His lover panted hard for a few second, his body leaning heavily on the desk as he came down from his orgasm.

Raditz carefully tucked the other man back into his pants before standing up. His arms came around Trunks and he allowed the prince to hold some of his weight.

“What brought this on?” Trunks asked as they leaned on one another.

The prince reached down towards Raditz’ own erection, but froze when his fingers met something unexpected.

Trunks pulled his face away and looked at Raditz. “Why aren’t you hard? Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry. I—I wanted to take my mind off something. I shouldn’t have used you like that,” he said as he began to pull away, but Trunks pulled him back, his arms tightening.

“Raditz, I’m here for you, whatever you need. I just . . . I hate not being able to do anything for you . . . reminds me of how it was in the beginning,” he said, face flushing.

He snorted. “You do plenty for me, my prince. You’re here. That’s all I need.”

Trunks blinked at the statement. “Wow, you’re really cheesy, today.”

The dark-haired saiyan nodded. “I’m serious though, I . . . I just need you,” he said, swallowing uncomfortably.

Trunks’ brow furrowed in confusion before he nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It was exactly what he needed to hear and he sagged against his lavender-haired lover.  Raditz let his eyes close for a while, his thoughts drifting as he basked in the woodsy scent of Trunks. It was almost like being back on Earth in the bed they would share.

“Do you want to go back to our room?”

His eyes opened once more and his gaze focused on the pads that littered his desk—more work that needed to be done.

He pulled away slightly. “No. I still have half my shift left.”

Trunks pursed his lips before nodding. He started to pull away, but changed his mind mid-movement and instead leaned in and planted a heavy kiss on the other saiyan.

“I’m paying you back tonight,” Trunks said, his voice low.

Raditz swallowed. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Trunks gave him one last sly smile before brushing past him and leaving. Raditz watched him, a smile quirking his mouth before reality hit him once more.

He slumped back into his chair with a sigh. How did he face his father, knowing that the king was watching him? How had Bardock even ended up like this? Was the king uninterested in taking Bardock as an official mate, but wanted him anyway?

That was the usual gossip, he knew. Why else would the king still wish to keep their relationship secret . . . unless it  _ wasn’t _ the king who was hiding . . . King Vegeta obviously made no secret of his desires when it came to the palace’s inner staff.

Those techs _had_ to know what was going on.

Raditz grimaced. He needed more information.

His eyes slid to his comm. He also had something else he needed to do today. Raditz powered on his terminal with a few keystrokes and typed in the necessary comm codes. He sent a comm chime to Kakarot, not necessarily expecting an immediate reply but he needed to speak to his brother soon. He turned away from his console to work on other things, but his terminal beeped back a reply.

The captain blinked but made the connection. “Kakarot,” he said looking at the screen.

His brother’s face filled the window and he blinked. Technically, he hadn’t explained how the scouter really worked before leaving, but Kakarot had apparently figured out that if he set the scouter out in front of him rather than wearing it, Raditz would see his face.  His brother couldn’t see him, but that was beside the point, he supposed.

“Hey, Bro. Can you see me okay?”

“Yes, Kakarot. I can even see your lovely mate behind you.”

Chichi turned away from the stove and sent a wave and a smile his way before she went back to whatever it was she was cooking. 

“So what’s up?” Kakarot asked.

Radtiz sighed. “It seems previous reports on our father were mistaken. He’s . . . no longer headed for Earth. He’s returned to Vegeta-sei and he’s here now.”

Kakarot and his mate turned around to face one another and seemed to share some kind of look before the woman turned off the burner of her stove and left the kitchen. She came around the sofa and sat down beside her mate, her expression pensive.

“So Gohan’s grandfather won’t be coming?” she asked.

“No. He’s taken a new position working for Bulma as her head of research and development and he’s currently working on the retrofit of capsule tech into saiyan ships as well as doing preliminary designs where the tech is already integrated.”

The woman licked her lips as she nodded. “Wow . . . he really must be something, then.”

“He is,” Raditz said simply, watching the way the woman's hands twisted in anxiousness. “But there is something that concerns you?”

“Well, Chichi and I have been talking, you know—about Gohan’s future and with the way Capsule Corp. is expanding into the galaxy.”

These were much larger words and far more expansive thoughts than Kakarot usually engaged in, which meant that whatever was coming was actually his mate’s idea.

“We really want the best for our son,” his brother continued. "But before we make a final decision, Trunks said we should talk to you.”

_ They’d been talking to Trunks? _

“Go on,” he said.

Chichi swallowed before speaking up. “He says there is a certain level of . . . of stigma attached to being a half-breed. He doesn’t experience anything too bad, but he’s also the prince and the savior and whatever else. He’s also an adult and these things affect children differently.  I need to know if there would be a genuine threat to Gohan if he were to go to Vegeta-sei.”

“ _ And _ Chichi,” Kakarot said, speaking up for the first time. “Chichi can fight, but I don’t . . .” he bit his lips. “I don’t want anyone to hurt her if I’m not there.”

He could see that this was something they'd been thinking about for a while—going so far as to speak to Trunks about it. Kakarot wanted to go and fight, he wanted his son to fight, but he wouldn’t risk their safety just to satisfy his wants. Chichi wanted the best life for her child and wanted to make her husband happy, but she was clearly worried about what the effect of the culture and their prejudices would have on Gohan.

He thought over his words carefully. The king had made no secret to him that he wanted Kakarot and his family to come to Vegeta-sei. There were several layers to that desire, of course. He wanted more information about half-breeds, he wanted a powerful saiyan close by so he could be watched, he wanted one less obstacle in his quest to cut Bardock off from ever leaving the planet.

But Raditz also had a responsibility to his family. His brother and his brother's mate were trusting him to be honest about what they could expect here.

“The truth of it is that there is prejudice towards half-breeds,” he began, watching as the pair looked at one another in silent communication, but he hurried to continue. “However that prejudice is based on the fact that most half-breeds—all of them, in fact before Trunks and your son—were far weaker than their saiyan parent. In many cases there were deformities and sterility.”

Chichi blanched at the idea of her son having such issues, “But he’s fine.”

“Yes," he said with a nod of agreement. "Your son and Prince Trunks are unique. Human and saiyan genetics are astonishingly compatible. Saiyan culture is based on respect for power. Kakarot has power—he has it in abundance, and if Gohan has continued his training since we parted, then I assume his power has also increased.”

“He feels pretty powerful," Kakarot said thoughtfully. "The scouter says he’s just over fifteen thousand.”

_Fifteen thousand?_ Raditz let none of his emotion show on his face. He’d been at eighteen when he’d first landed on Earth and now after training in the gravity room and with Trunks, he was at just under thirty thousand. But his nephew had been _nothing_ when he’d first laid eyes on him. He’d risen a few thousand with training while Raditz had been there and he’d been more than impressed at the time, but fifteen thousand?

His lips tightened. “Your son has nothing to worry about.”

“So that’s strong?” Chichi asked.

He let out a humming noise. “Your son’s power level is what we’d classify as an elite—a ranking shared by the highest of noble houses and royalty.”

Chichi blinked at the statement before nodding and moving on. “What kind of schooling can he get if Goku’s father isn’t in charge of the education programs there?”

He’d been authorized by the king to offer them most anything they asked for so he felt no hesitation in his response. “Our planet's formal educational programs are still in their infancy, and not advanced enough for Gohan. He would instead receive one-on-one lessons with various tutors hired within the palace.”

“And . . . how would we finance that?” she asked slowly.

An Earth sentiment, but one he had prepared for. “The king is aware of Kakarot’s power level. He is offering your husband an official position within the royal retinue of Prince Vegeta as a sparring partner and a member of royal guard.”

She seemed taken aback by the idea of her husband having a _job_. “It pays well?” she asked after a moment.

Raditz smiled. “Extremely. A large apartment within the military complex of the palace is included in the offer.”

“We’ve always lived in a house. We usually like the space,” Kakarot said thoughtfully.

“Vegeta-sei is a desert planet. You wouldn’t enjoy living out in the sand and sun for long, besides, you prefer the space because you get fairly destructive with your training. The palace has several training yards made to take the damage. You’ll be spending most of your time there anyway.”

His brother nodded before looking over at ChiChi. “You still want to do this, hun?”

The woman sighed and her eyes moved around as though mapping our their home and reliving the memories that came with each nicknack and piece of furniture.

“I . . . I do want Gohan to have the best education,” she began, her voice twinged with something nostalgic. “And I know you would be happy there so . . .”

“But what about you?” Kakarot asked, his eyes wide.

She shrugged. “Well, it’s not like I have a ton of friends close by here anyway, but Bulma is there, isn’t she?”

Raditz hastily nodded, forgetting that they couldn’t see him. “Yes, Miss Briefs is remaining here indefinitely. She is in the midst of setting up an extension of her company.”

Chichi nodded again. “I guess it’s alright then. We can do it.”

Kakarot's’ face split into a wide grin as he secretly gave his brother a thumbs up. Raditz snorted before he spoke again. “Capsule Corp. has just signed an agreement with Vegeta-sei. A ship is already headed to Earth to pick up personnel and materials. I will requisition a cabin for your family.”

“How long?” his brother's mate asked.

“Approximately eleven weeks.”

Chichi pursed her lips. “Uh . . . will there be another ship coming later?”

Raditz typed a few commands into his terminal, pulling up the ships schedules and looking them over. “There will be another a few months after. Humans can only withstand the gravity here for a limited amount of time without training. I assume you will be fine, seeing as your power level is well above the bulk of your species, but others will have a much harder time. Miss Briefs has already given us a schedule to follow to bring humans back and forth so that the work isn’t stalled waiting.”

She nodded. “Goku and Gohan will go on the first ship. I need more time to make sure all of our bills, debts, and records are settled. I don’t want to leave a mess here in case we return.”

They’d probably never return there—the king wouldn’t allow it, but he understood the sentiment.  “As you wish. I will note down the request. Please let me know how much cargo space you’ll require when you bring your things with you.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Raditz.”

“Yeah, thanks, bro.”

“I shall see you soon, Kakarot.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, I hope ya'll get that I like Chichi as an idea, but not the execution of her character as imagined by Toriyama in Z. I wasn't a huge fan of the original Dragon Ball itself, but Chichi was a much better character back then. I'm not sure why Toriyama changed her from being super supportive of Goku's tournament lifestyle to someone who suddenly hates the idea of fighting. As I've gone along with this story, I think I'm trying to write an extension of her character from Dragon Ball. I want her to still value education and what it could mean for Gohan's future, but I also want her to still be the woman that fell in love with a warrior and married him.
> 
> I'm tempted to go back and edit some of the earlier chapters to better reflect that. Hmmmm.
> 
> Oh and as a side note, I uploaded the fist 'chapter' of the story of Bardock and King Vegeta. It's their first time together. Much of their relationship is based around sex in the beginning and I'm not actually too great at writing those so it a bit slow going getting those up lol. Anyway, the story is part of this series so it should be easy to find.


	23. Chapter 23

Turles straightened his armor and Grish hurried over to smooth out any wrinkles in his cape before his entrance.

“Is everyone settled?” he asked quietly.

Grish looked up and his violet eyes met Turles’ in understanding. The question wasn’t about the comfort of his people but about whether they received the respect they were entitled to.

“The saiyans have been gracious in their hospitality,” his secretary murmured.

Turles nodded but said nothing more as he was announced. The doors opened and he walked through the massive arched doorway and into the formal throne room of the king of Vegeta-sei. This was his first meeting with the king—the first time he’d ever seen the man outside the occasional speech when he’d been young, if he was being honest.

King Vegeta and Turles were roughly the same age and when Turles had left the planet, he hadn’t been king for very long. The former king had been especially hard on the lower classes—using them as canon fodder in Frieza’s wars to appease the arcosian. The current King Vegeta had been much the same in the beginning . . . before the savior had come.

When he’d left, he’d technically deserted—committed treason which was why he’d never contacted his family afterwards. He hadn’t wished to implicate Bardock, but it seemed that times had changed. The first communication exchange of his territory with Vegeta-sei had gone well. The current king had abolished the mandatory conscription when Frieza had been run off more than twenty years ago and as such, Turles’ crimes had been struck.

King Vegeta had named his territory the Seijin Province and he allowed them to name it as an extension of the empire in order to avoid any talk of rebellion. Names mattered little to him, anyway. Years had passed since then, but this trip here was his first meeting with the king as well as the beginnings of negotiations for taxes and tributes and what his people could expect in return.

They’d managed complete self sufficiency since he’d taken power fifteen years ago. He had his own small fleet in development based on the tech of Grish’s people the Xang. There had been several conflicts between systems in the territory, but he’d settled the disagreements—the hard way.

He’d taken the daughters of several of the former leaders as concubines and had children, but they were all weak. They were just what the saiyan government had always proclaimed of half-breeds.

Weaklings, most of which were sterile anyway.

None of them could ever become his heir. Turles hadn’t wanted to take another saiyan for a mate. Part of the reason for his popularity amongst the people of his province was that he did not enforce outdated rules of blood purity, xenophobia, and ethnocentrism. He’d sought to prove them all wrong with his own heir being a half-breed.

He despised his continual failures on this front. But seeing Prince Trunks—knowing what he was . . .

A human woman could be the answer to his quandary.

“Lord Turles of the Seijin Province!”

He kept his eyes forward as he approached the throne. King Vegeta sat high upon the dais, his son, the prince was there standing by his side, but the half-breed was nowhere in sight. Turles also spotted the man he believed to be his nephew Raditz. Bardock had said that his eldest son was captain of the Red Guard, and while this man didn’t share much resemblance with Bardock, there was an air of familiarity when their eyes met. Nobles and politicians lined the great hall on either side of him, their eyes assessing this newcomer. They were aware of his power and he heard Bardock’s name whispered amongst them.

He would speak to Grish about finding out exactly what Bardock’s role had been all these years.

“Welcome home, Lord Turles,” the king said in a low rumble. “I hope your stay so far has been pleasant.”

He inclined his head. “I am touched by the nostalgia of my family here, but I am also gratified to see the flourishing metropolis that the capital, and by extension the empire, has become.”

The king’s lips spread into a smile. “I imagine it is quite different than the outer rim planets you’re used to.”

He let the insult slide, but only so far. “On the contrary, the Seijin Province is a network of planets that have become bound together to share resources and knowledge. Hailok, the capital planet boasts a population of sixteen billion sentients and is the center of trade for the province.”

He heard murmuring from the other saiyans, and knew what they thought of his province. He'd been all but ignored all these years because they thought it nothing but a loose smattering of planet populated by primitive cities and seedy space ports. Perhaps hundreds of years ago, it had been so, but things were different now. He’d made sure of it.

“So you say,” the king said with a raised brow.

Turles allowed a _pleasant_ smile to cross his lips. “I would be more than happy to entertain any ambassadors of Vegeta-sei within our halls,” he said without inflection. “Actually, it is my hope that my family will one day come and visit me in the Seijin Province.”

The king's eyes narrowed slightly. “That would be quite the journey. Your brother Bardock is . . . needed here and Raditz is a captain of the Red Guard. I don’t know that either of them could be spared for such an extended amount of time.”

“Technology improves every day," Turles said with a shallow shrug. "Especially when one has friends willing to share. While I know your phase four tech ships would take eight to nine months to make the journey, my newest flagship departed from Hailok just over five months ago . . . and yet here I am.”

King Vegeta raised a brow. “You wish to offer technology, but at what price?”

“Earth,” he said steadily. There were whispers amongst the people so he explained. “Earth borders the Seijin Province, but it is currently outside our territory and thus outside of the protection of the Seijin fleet. We never attempted to claim it after it was declared a dead-zone planet. But the planet is far outside Saiyan territory and harder to defend with the current tech.”

“You wish for that planet to be zoned into your province," The king said steadily.

The saiyan lord nodded. “Precisely.”

“Why?”

“It is the planet that birthed the savior, is it not? It should be protected from outsiders that may seek to use it against the royal family.”

The king’s head tilted. “I will think on it,” he said before getting up.

Vegeta descended from his position at the top of the dais and gestured for Turles to come forward. The king held out his hand and Turles looked down at it for a fraction of a second before taking it. They leaned in close as was tradition for the gesture of friendship, and within seconds he realized why the king had lowered himself. That _scent_ . . . His eyes met the other saiyan’s and he _knew_ that the king knew what he’d figured out.

 _I have your family,_ those eyes said.

 _King Vegeta_ was Bardock’s lover, and it was a slap in the face for him. This man was clearly toying with him—with them both. The whispers of Bardock suddenly made more sense. His brother had always been a reserved man and there was little there that could draw the attention of a king. They’d had a ‘disagreement’—that was what Bardock had said. Turles felt it far more likely that the king had gotten his kicks at Bardock’s expense and now he was using their former fling to get under Turles’ skin.

They pulled away, the air suddenly tense. The king released his arm first; watching him, but there was no fear in his gaze. Turles hated how small he suddenly felt. His power level was higher than any of these faceless nobles, and even that of the king, but it still wasn’t enough.

His eyes slid to the prince. That dark gaze watched him with interest—curiosity without caution—as though Turles were little better than a passing amusement. These men had an empire wrapped around their fingers and it _burned_ Turles up inside. He’d gained so much and yet he still stood before them and felt like little more than a beggar.

The saiyan lord pasted a smile on his face. “I thank you for the courtesy, King Vegeta. I hope relations between the province and the empire will continue to flourish.”

“We are all saiyans here," the king said loudly for all the hear. "We all look towards the Great Ancestor. He at last gifted us with the legendary once more. A symbol, I think, that we are all one in the same—that we are _all_ beholden to _one_ empire.”

It was a threat—a thinly veiled one at that, but not unexpected.

Turles bowed and made his formal farewell before departing. He kept his head held high even as he felt the gaze of the royals on his back.

 

* * *

 

Bardock moved the stylus over the screen carefully, sketching out a rough drawing of the housing that would encase the capsule fiber power cells within the ship. It was quiet in the lab—everyone having long since gone home when it was so late at night.

He’d leave the sketches and specs on Bulma’s desk so she’d have them first thing in the morning and then they could go over them as needed when he came back in the afternoon. The scientist hadn't expected to become such a night owl—he’d never been so before—however, after returning to the science division, things were somewhat uncomfortable.

Bardock was the former head of the entire division and now he was second in command to a small outlying company renting space there. No one treated him badly . . . or any differently at all.

Which was part of the problem.

His former subordinates came to him with issues as they had in the past which interrupted his work continually. Bulma didn’t seem particularly bothered by it, but she _had_ complained about something else earlier in the day.

“I don’t understand what the hold-up is,” she’d said. “I put in the paperwork for corporate work visa approval and the land buy almost a month ago, but they haven’t even begun to process it!”

She wanted out of the palace, it seemed. Miss Briefs was used to doing things on her own terms and the stalling from the imperial offices was wearing on her.

“I’m sure they will get to it as soon as possible,” he said in an attempt to placate his . . . boss.

The human shook her head. “I just don’t understand. The king told me there wouldn’t be any issue with establishing Capsule Corp here.”

Bardock shrugged. “The king doesn’t personally oversee the governmental offices. He doesn’t even personally sign the imperial approval documents.”

“Ugh, and I thought Earth red tape was bad,” she’d said, mildly disgusted.

He hadn’t voiced his suspicions then and he never would. King Vegeta was clearly planning something—for Bardock or Bulma . . . or both.

He heard the soft slide of the lab door behind him and the stylus skittered over the glass for a second before it stopped. He set the thin piece of metal down but didn’t immediately turn around. Bardock didn’t require a scouter or Raditz’s ability to feel power levels to know who it was.

Truthfully, he was surprised it had taken this long for the other man to seek him out.

There was the faint clicking of the lock and soft footsteps in the din. He sighed but turned around and face the other saiyan. There was no escape from the situation—not with Raditz outside the door—and damn Vegeta to hell and back for forcing this situation onto him

“I knew you would return sooner or later . . . my love,” the king murmured as his eyes moved along Bardock’s body, no doubt taking in the simple loose clothing and finding it wanting. “Your brother asked for Earth.”

He knew about that, of course. “Did you not invite him here specifically to seek additional protection of that planet?”

Vegeta grimaced. “I did—but for him to request it _first_ . . . He must think Earth is important.”

“Isn’t it?” Bardock asked with an innocent tilt of his head.

The king sneered. “Of course it is—but it is not for outsiders to know such things!”

“Turles is a saiyan and my brother . . . hardly an outsider.”

“He despises the people of this planet—the people within the palace . . . he is the very definition of an outsider.”

Bardock felt a sigh fall from his lungs. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know that you told him things you shouldn’t have," the king said with narrowed eyes. "Things he’s now using to come at me.”

The scientist raised a brow. “He is my brother. I don’t hide things from him.”

“And yet," Vegeta said with a false lightness. "I could tell that he had _no_ idea about _our_ relationship.”

“It’s irrelevant," Bardock said flatly. "Our relationship is over.”

Vegeta let out an amused snort. “Do not be a fool, Bardock. We both know it’ll never be over.” The king looked around the office. “You run and you hide, but you always come back to me.”

“I didn’t come here for you,” he said softly.

The king's eyes moved back to him knowingly. “Tell yourself whatever you need to, but we both know your son can take care of himself. You had your pod all ready to go, but something stopped you.” Bardock grimaced silently and the king spoke again. “What did you see?”

The third class froze. “What?”

Vegeta leaned in close. "You were so very set on leaving, but you abruptly changed your mind . . . after destroying nearly fifty scouters.”

Bardock swallowed. “I—I can’t.”

“I know," the king said, something in his face catching Bardock off guard. There was an . . . acceptance there. "But do not pretend to me about not caring about the people here—about me.”

The king’s hand came up and wrapped around Bardock’s waist, pulling his lover close until their chests were touching. Bardock let out a shuddering breath as he felt the king’s arousal against his own.

“Release me,” he said quietly.

“No. Not for as long as you live,” the king murmured leaning in even closer. “Return to me. Your position and labs await you. I await you.”

Bardock shook his head, even as he felt sweat beading over his brow. “I—I can’t. This isn’t my fate—”

The king bared his teeth. “The fate of this planet has already changed drastically—irrevocably. Whatever you think is supposed to happen—”

“She—” Bardock cut himself off before pulling away. “I am not what you need.”

Vegeta hissed his displeasure. “You would dictate to a _king_ what he needs? For twenty-five years, you’ve given into me, and for what? To protect Kakarot? And now that I’ve assured you his life, you seek to leave me? You think it is that easy to walk away from me?”

The scientist felt his lips thin in irritation. “I think you have more important matters to occupy your mind than a lowly third-class—”

“Cease your lies, Bardock!" the king snarled, cutting him off. "There is not a single saiyan in this palace that thinks you any less than an elite. How long will you continue to ignore the fact that _everyone_ knows? The nobility bow their heads in deference to you, and you bask in the respect of our military leaders while burying your head in the sand as to the cause.”

Bardock looked away for a few seconds, the lashes of his eyes hiding his gaze from the king. But when they looked back, the king flinched at his glare.

“They do these things to my face, but behind my back, I’m nothing but a well-compensated bed-toy!” he spit out.

“And _whose_ fault is that?” Vegeta asked rhetorically.

Bardock clenched his fists. This misery he felt . . . no matter what he said he . . . he loved Vegeta. The king took the silence as an opportunity and leaned in, his mouth meeting the other saiyan’s as he pushed Bardock against his desk.

“We can’t,” he said against the onslaught of the king.

If anything, the other man pressed even closer. “We can . . .  we can do anything.”

“My son—he’s outside the door.”

Vegeta shook his head. “If you turn away from me, Bardock, next time I’ll have Raditz stand inside and _watch_ while I turn you over this desk and take you.”

He couldn't help the gasp that fell from his lips even as horror filled his voice. “Why are you like this?”

The king watched him for a moment before speaking, a deep-rooted fury spilling into his words. “You _made_ me like this. You showed me something I’d never seen before and you made me want it too, but then you took it back," he said, clenching his jaw in agitation. "You kept it from me and the only way I could have it was to _drag_ it out of you. I never wanted to feel this—any of it. I am the king! I should not want for anything because e _verything_ is mine! Nothing should be beyond my grasp, but you . . . you drive me crazy when I can see so clearly that I’m not the only one suffering.”

Bardock allowed the other man to lean in again and he didn’t stop the king as nimble and practiced fingers pulled his clothing apart. He said nothing when he was pushed back onto his desk, and when Vegeta pushed inside him for the first time in so long, his teeth sank into the thick fabric of the king’s uniform . . . right where his scent gland would have been. He’d done it to muffle his moans, but the king became wild, his thrust turning erratic and the desk scraping loudly against the floor as it was pushed a bit at the time with every harsh jolt.

The scientist eventually fell back entirely, his mouth open and breath hard and panting as he held onto the sides of the tabletop to keep himself stationary. He looked up at the king and saw how his eyes traced over every curve and angle of Bardock’s body.

He felt so exposed like this.

It wasn't the first time that the king had taken him while fully dressed—Bardock was nearly positive that the uniforms they all wore were specifically designed to be removed easily for things such as this. But as he saw his own bare legs wrapped around the red fabric of the king’s uniform, he could not help but reach up and cover his eyes.

“Don’t hide yourself from this,” his lover said in a low rasping tone.

He shook his head. “I don’t want to be this person.”

“Then be someone else," The king said easily as he pulled Bardock's arms back down. "Take the place that should have been yours a decade ago.”

Vegeta thrust in hard with every word and Bardock gasped out, “I can’t go there—be that.”

The king shook his head obstinately and thrust even harder as though he could physically push his will onto the other saiyan. Bardock took it, enjoyed it, and didn’t pull away as Vegeta leaned down and all but caged the other man against the desk. Having both hands on the surface allowed the saiyan ruler a greater amount of control when it came to the speed and angle of his movements and the third-class was left gasping, his eyes wide as he felt the king mouthing at his neck.

“I could mark you, you know,” his lover whispered against his skin. “I could sink my teeth into your flesh—perhaps I’d trigger a rut.”

“Rut or not,” Bardock said, his voiced hitched and uneven. “I wouldn’t mark you in return.”

The fingers on either side of his head clenched and the metal of the desktop snapped with the shear stress of the king’s anger. The man said nothing more as he continued his movements until Bardock finally came. The scientist couldn’t help reaching up and around, holding the other man close as he gave his last few shutters. Vegeta didn’t shake him off as he sometimes did when Bardock said something to anger him, but he kept up his harsh movements until he too shuddered with release.

The king laid there over him, no doubt staining the front of his uniform with Bardock’s cum, but the man didn’t seem to care. They slowly pulled away, but the older saiyan didn’t go far. He looked down at Bardock and there was a sad curiosity there.

His voice was low and rough. “How can I convince you of my intentions? What must a king do to prove he is a man of his word?”

“It was never about your word . . . It won’t be long,” Bardock murmured, knowing that his own sadness wouldn't be missed. “We are all bound by our fate.”

“Fate?” the king repeated with a snort. “Our fate was to become extinct, and yet here we are.”

Bardock swallowed. “I am only a scientist, and before that, a rough and low-born soldier. I never took a mate, but instead loved and protected my children to the point that others laughed and mocked me. I’m no prince consort.”

At his words, the king finally did pull away. He stood up, looking mostly unmussed but for the way his uniform gaped open at the crotch and his semi-hard erection still waved about in front of him.

“Are you quite finished?” Vegeta asked flatly as he began straightening his clothing.

Bardock sat up, well aware of his nakedness, but somehow uncaring. “What?”

The king's lips twisted in disgust. “I am sick of listening to you _whine_ about this. Over and over you speak of the same things without listening to the answers I give you in response. Whatever— _whoever_ you’re afraid of. I will destroy them. I won’t tolerate your reticence any longer.”

“It’s not that easy, Vegeta.”

“Isn’t it?" the saiyan ruler asked simply. "Who would stop me?”

Bardock shook his head. “You think I couldn’t take care of it myself if I wanted to? That I couldn’t—” he cut himself off before he said more than he wished.

A smile spread over Vegeta face as he leaned down and kissed Bardock once more. It was a slow kiss—lazy and sloppy. When the king pulled away, Bardock could not help meeting the other man’s dark eyes and wishing so badly that he could fall asleep looking at them.

“I do so love it when you’re honest with me, Bardock. All these secrets you keep from me . . . one day you’ll tell me everything.”

The third-class truly wished that he could. “There is too much at stake.”

“How much risk can there truly be to our people . . . especially when we will be all but crawling with super saiyans.”

Bardock felt his eye twitch. “No one else but Prince Trunks can ascend.”

Vegeta’s smile was pleased. “For now . . . but not forever—not when the secret of the legendary is within my grasp.”

The third-class blinked in confusion. “What?”

“I know what is required to ascend. I’ve had decades to think upon it and now with my grandson here . . . I know.”

“You hope to ascend too?” Bardock asked hesitantly.

The king shook his head. “No . . . that power was never meant for me—I don’t have the drive to achieve it, but it is meant for my son and for his children and theirs after.”

Bardock noticed that the king made no mention of his own line and he grimaced.

“Get that look off your face," Vegeta said irritably. "I will not kill your child, Bardock, but he will do as he is told. You said my son needed a rival in order fully ascend and I intend to make sure he gets one.”

The scientist’s eyes narrowed. “You’re planning something.”

Vegeta raised a brow. “When am I not?” he asked before shrugging. “I will keep my word to you. Kakarot will not be harmed—though you could assure his position more easily as the mate of the king.”

Bardock felt his jaw drop open at how casually the king said such a thing, as though being the king’s mate were such an easy position to slip into. He eyed Vegeta and could see plainly that despite the flippancy of the statement, the outcome of the unasked question was important.

He reached out and took Vegeta’s hand into his own. Bardock could all but feel the slump of the king’s spine as the man realized this was a touch of comfort rather than acceptance.

“Things will change soon enough,” he whispered, “But until then . . . I can . . . I can perhaps make Capsule Corp. reports to you in—in private.”

Vegeta’s head snapped up and the scientist could see how profoundly the words had affected his lover. The king leaned over and wrapped his arms around Bardock.

“You say again and again that someone will come between us, but I swear to you . . . I won’t let it happen.”

Bardock kissed the side of the king’s jaw. “It’s not always up to you,” he whispered.

It would hurt, he knew . . . perhaps even destroy him when the king left him for another. His eyes slipped closed ever as his arms came around the other man. It was only a matter of time.

 

* * *

 

Vegeta didn’t meet Raditz’s eyes as he walked out of the Capsule Corp. labs. He’d been in there well over an hour and Bardock’s son wasn’t an idiot. He shouldn’t have brought Raditz with him, but he’d been feeling a new level of spiteful and petty at having to seek Bardock out like a beggar looking for scraps.

He was being unfair, he knew—it wasn’t as though any saiyan could simply walk up the king at his or her leisure, but there were ways that Bardock could have subtly gotten his attention. Not that his third-class lover had ever bothered with such things. He’d never bothered with them even after they’d been together for years and Bardock had slowly started letting his guard down.

Not many saiyans could speak of emotions beyond pride and anger, but the royal family—and even some of the nobles—were different. They hadn’t had their genetics and physical bodies modified by the genetics office for the last thousand years.

Vegeta, himself, had considered such things rubbish—there was little point in focusing on or even acknowledging something as base as one’s _feelings._ He’d taken lover after lover over the years, disposing of them after a few days, a few months, or a few years . . . and Bardock shouldn’t have been any different in that respect.

He’d intended to keep an eye on the scientist for a multitude of reasons and the secrets the other saiyan held had always fascinated him. Fucking him had been an added bonus and he’d never thought any further about Bardock until . . .

The king hadn’t been lying when he’d told Bardock that he’d shown Vegeta something he’d never seen before. He could pinpoint the very night something had shifted within him. It had taken years for it to develop into the obsession he had today, but had all began on a single night with a single small thing.

A smile.

Not a smile of malicious glee or a smirk of pride, but a smile of joy and laughter. It was something he’d never seen before—not directed at himself, anyway. Bardock had caught on quickly that something had changed and he’d been quick to drop the expression, but the king had never forgotten it—never forgotten the way something within him had warmed in an unfamiliar, but not unwelcome way.

He’d had several lovers other than Bardock at the time—noble men and women mixed with a few servants and military officers, but as time wore on, they were all compared to the third class and found wanting.

Perhaps they didn’t make the right sounds in the throes of passion, perhaps they were useless in afterglow conversation, perhaps they were too clingy and opportunistic. It was a slow progression, and he’d not even realized what he’d been doing until, eventually, they were all discarded. Many of them tried to hold on—some of them having warmed his bed for years—but there was nothing they could do because they all shared one thing . . . they weren’t Bardock.

The king remembered the day he’d realized that he had no lovers besides the scientist, not even casual one-time fucks—no, if he needed that particular itch scratched, he called the third-class to him to make a private report and bent him over the desk.

His first thought had been to seek out someone new, and he’d allowed one of the secretaries to ride him for half the afternoon. In the end, he’d all but thrown the man out of his office, but he hadn’t had time to cleanse himself before _Bardock_ and the other division heads had entered his office to make their reports.

His lover’s nose had twitched slightly and the king immediately knew that the third-class was aware of what had happened. The other man did not make any gesture or expression—his tone of voice never changed as he went over his reports, but Vegeta was keenly aware of the fact that he’d fucked up.

The scientist hadn’t lingered afterwards as he usually did and he _ignored_ the king’s summons that night. Bardock was not one to lash out in anger or jealousy—he walked away from all challenges . . . he always had. It was a curious thing . . . Bardock said nothing—did nothing, and yet that was all that was needed for the king to know that he’d hurt the other man. Vegeta had had to practically drag the other saiyan back into his bed. He made no promises or apologies for his behavior—he was the king after all—but he hadn’t touched anyone but Bardock since.

That had all been over a decade ago and things were finally coming to a head. Perhaps it was sheer stupidity that he’d waited—planned and schemed—for so long to have a single man, but when one is king and things come so easily . . . having to fight for something . . . to have it was all the sweeter.

The king eventually came to his wing and he halted before turning to Raditz. The guard captain had a completely neutral expression on his face. When he’d left Bardock’s son in the command center that day, there had been fear warring with disgust on the taller saiyan’s visage, but none of that showed now.

“Do you hate me, Raditz?” he asked with a curious tilt of his head.

The guard’s eyes went wide in shock. “My King, I—”

Vegeta scoffed. “None of your useless platitudes, boy. I’m fucking your father—have been for years.”

Raditz swallowed, and there was the tell-tale creaking of a gloved fist tightening. “I know—everyone knows, but . . .”

The king pursed his lips slightly in thought. “You never thought it was serious, did you?”

The younger saiyan finally met his eyes. “How . . . Does it have to be him? You’re the _king_ . . .”

Vegeta knew what he was asking—knew what he was implying. That he was making Bardock’s life more difficult by continuing to engage in the affair while offering little in protection from the nobles and gossip. Perhaps two decades ago that had been true, but for years it had been quite the opposite.

He’d offered everything.

The king’s expression was bland. “It’s precisely because I am the king that it _must_ be him. I could not hope to keep him if I wasn’t.”

The statement seemed to confuse Raditz. “But you aren’t mates—”

Vegeta snorted. “Only because he has refused me— _continues_ to refuse me.”

“He—What?” Raditz asked, his jaw going slack for a few seconds before he seemed to blink himself back in the reality. “My father _refused_ you?” he asked, completely aghast.

There was a feeling of vindication hearing the shock Raditz’s voice that his own father would refuse the king.

“Your family is already held in high esteem within this palace and beyond, but you could be even greater if Bardock had even a shred of your ambition.”

The guardsman swallowed uncomfortably. “My father, he . . . he’s never sought out fame or power, and after what happened to his squad . . . family is what’s most important to him.”

The king knew that, of course. He’d been using Raditz to manipulate Bardock for years—something he wasn’t about to mention in this moment.

“Bardock has it in his head that I will leave him for another . . . he has seen it,” he said instead.

Raditz’s eyes narrowed. “My father . . .” he began carefully. “His visions are rarely wrong.”

Vegeta inclined his head shallowly. “But not entirely right, either. The things he sees . . . they can be prevented, can they not?”

The younger saiyan hesitated. “He has told me of things in the past that were circumvented.”

He nodded. “I thought as much. Bardock is . . . important to me—important enough that I would make him my mate.” He could see that he statement was still something of a shock to the guardsman so he went on. “But that will only happen if he accepts the inevitable.”

Raditz said nothing for a few seconds before seemingly screwing up his courage. “Is he only hesitating because of this other person?”

The king cocked a brow. “Do not dance around your questions. As what you wish to ask.”

The other saiyan swallowed before speaking again. “I want to know if this thing between you is one-sided.”

It was a question he never thought to get. Of course Bardock loved him. He _knew_ that. He felt it every time their eyes met or their skin touched. He felt it in every embrace and kiss. But to an outsider . . . perhaps it wasn't so clear-cut.

He met Raditz's gaze steadily.  “It’s not.”

Bardock's eldest son took a breath before nodding in acceptance. “My father—if he thinks he is doing the right thing . . . he won’t divert from the path he’s on.”

Of that, the king was well aware. “He thinks he is doing the right thing because _no one_ will tell him otherwise. There is no one he trusts enough to speak his secrets and therefore no one to offer him any advice.”

“You want me to talk to him,” Raditz stated rather than asked.

The king raised a brow. “I want you to do what is in the best interests of your family. Your father would be Prince Consort, _you_ would be on far firmer footing in the courting of a _prince_ , and your _brother’s_ family would become an extension of the royal family.”

He could see that it was the last line that really caught Raditz’s attention. For all that Bardock and Raditz were different, family was the one thing they both put first. Super saiyans outside the royal line were a threat to the throne. Neither of them knew for sure that Kakarot was a super saiyan, but there was enough suspicion that Raditz did not even try and argue about it—not to mention Kakarot's son. Another half-breed, that by all accounts, was already classed as an elite.

“I will . . . I will see what I can do,” Raditz said after a moment.

“That is all I ask.”


	24. Chapter 24

Bulma chewed her lip as she looked over the newest schematics that Bardock had sent over. He’d succeeded in integrating the capsule fibers into the major systems, but she could tell even without a trial run, that there still wasn’t enough coverage. They’d never really done a retrofit on anything this size before and she was beginning to wonder if this was really going to work or if she was going to have to go to the king and tell him it couldn’t be done on his largest ships.

Her eyes narrowed.  _ No way in hell. _

The door to the office chimed and she absently hit the open button. Probably another messenger from the king asking about the gravity chambers. She’d already begun coordinating production back on Earth and when the first ship arrived from her planet, she’d have all the parts she needed to start construction on a stationary building.

That didn’t stop King Vegeta from sending people to pester her about it, though. They always came with 'solutions' and 'reasons' for why she could fabricate the right parts on Vegeta-sei and begin building immediately, and she always had to stop what she was doing and explain why this material wouldn’t work or those circuit boards wouldn’t withstand the pressure, or whatever other idea had been concocted without her input. 

“Just leave your designs over there,” she said, eyes unmoved from the schematic even as she waved towards a side table.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty-handed then,” a voice said.

Bulma looked up and blinked in confusion for a half a second before placing him. This was neither Bardock or Goku. This was Turles.

“Lord Turles,” she said, her brows raising in surprise. She didn't get up from her desk to shake his hand—saiyans weren't really into that.

“Just Turles is fine, Miss Briefs,” he said.

Bulma was mannered enough to respond with, “You should call me Bulma, then.”

Her tone was easy, but her eyes narrowed a bit. Lines like that were designed to artificially instill a sense of intimacy and familiarity. As a woman in her position, she’d had more than her fair share of men and women trying to befriend her, romance her, use her—for her looks, her money, her connections, or her power.

But so far, it hadn’t happened on Vegeta-sei. She was keenly aware of her lack of physical attractiveness to the saiyans, and her designation as a scientist made her even more persona non grata.  Turles, however, was giving her a look that was usually reserved for men in dark night clubs. She leaned back in her seat and gestured for him to sit opposite her across the desk. 

“If you’re looking for your brother,” she began with a professional smile. “I’m afraid he isn’t in the office quite yet.”

The saiyan brushed that off, his nose flaring slightly as though sniffing something repugnant. “He has told me that he prefers to work at night so I’m not surprised. But I’m actually here to see you.”

Something that never boded well. “What can I do for you Turles?” she asked as she threaded her fingers together on the desk and leaned forward in a semblance of interest.

“It’s my understanding that you are the person to speak to about capsule tech and gravity chambers.”

She nodded shallowly. “Capsule Corp. is in an exclusive contract with the Saiyan Empire for the next nine months.”

A trade-off she hadn’t liked making, but it did help her keep focused on a single contract.

“The Seijin Province is technically part of the Saiyan Empire,” he said.

She raised a brow. “And yet, you just tried to claim my planet for your province.”

Turles smiled. It was so unlike Goku’s easy grin and yet it reminded her of when her friend was gearing up for a fight.

He shrugged indifferently. “Your planet is on the fringes of the province, but is unprotected at the moment. There are capable warriors, I won’t deny, but even they would fall if a blast was fired from space and the planet was destroyed.”

She instantly balked. “That . . . that wouldn’t happen.”

The saiyan let out a soft snort. “It happens far more often than you think, Bulma. It nearly happened to Vegeta-sei twenty-five years ago. The savior prince came and pushed Frieza back then and when he returned to destroy the planet a second time, Prince Trunks destroyed him.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “Prince Trunks, himself, could easily wipe away this system—a hundred systems”

“Trunks would _never_ do that,” she said firmly.

“Perhaps not, but these gravity chambers you are building exclusively for the royal house of Vegeta-sei will be reserved for those that can amass enough good will with the king to train in them. Who is to say that someone else would not gain strength and then turn it against us all later down the line? That kind of tech can not be reserved only for a select few or there will be an imbalance.”

She understood his words and his point of view, but . . . “The contract has already been signed and the ink long dried. It will be nine months before I can consider fulfilling orders from people other than the king.”

Turles shrugged. “Fair enough. I hope you will at least consider it when your contract expires. The Seijin Province may be remote, but it is wealthy. We would love to house a branch of your new company within our borders.”

Bulma nodded and she was about to respond when her door chimed again.

This time she didn’t immediately open the door, but instead hit the intercom. “Yes?” she asked.

“Miss Briefs, my name is Galeo Jinshae. I was sent by the king—”

The human rolled her eyes. “I don’t need any more bright ideas about parts for the chambers,” she said, hanging up on the man.

She was about to respond to Turles when the door chimed again. Bulma sighed but hit the comm. "Yes?"

“Uh, well, that is, I’m not here regarding . . . parts. I’m here regarding your wardrobe.”

Bulma blinked, her brows coming together. “My what?”

“If you’ll allow me in to explain—”

“Oh!” she said, her face flushing with embarrassment as she hit the door lock and the entryway opened. A maroon sentient with long white hair stood there, holding a case by his side. He immediately spotted Turles sitting before her and hastily waved a hand.

“Apologies, your secretary in the main office said you had no appointments.”

“She doesn’t,” Turles said as he got up. “I was merely dropping by,” he added before pursing his lip and looking back towards her. “Lunch will be served on the terrace of my chambers in an hour. Would you be amenable to continuing our discussion then?”

She should say no—she _knew_ she should say no, but dammit, this could be the exact moment that she got her foot in the door with yet another galactic territory for the company.

So she nodded. “That would be fine,” she said.

The saiyan lord smiled. “Excellent. I will send someone to escort you.”

“Thank you very much, Lord Turles.”

“Just Turles . . . See you soon, Bulma.”

She licked her lips and smiled as he walked out.

Her attention then turned to the sentient. “I believe there has been some kind of misunderstanding. I haven’t requisitioned anything from the palace—especially nothing regarding clothing.”

Galeo set his case down. “Miss Briefs, the king has sent you numerous invitations to formal events within the palace since you arrived, but you've yet to attend a single one.”

Of course she hadn’t. She hadn't brought anything to wear—

Bulma raised a single cerulean brow. “I never said that the reason I didn’t attend was because of my sartorial selection.”

The sentient nodded agreeably. “Very little gets by the king, Miss Briefs. Suffice is to say that he knows, and he believes that your problem should be rectified post haste. His intent is for Capsule Corp. to become a major military contractor, but you need to work on getting better situated among the nobles.

“I know that," she said, just a tad defensively. "I have a massive order of clothing coming on the next ship. I wasn’t exactly planning to stay here when I left.”

“The king understands that, which is why he is making this effort to smooth the way for your entry into the upper class saiyan society.” 

He was making it sound like she was debuting at a ball to look for a husband. 

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Fine. How long will this take?”

“When it comes to design, it depends on your level of involvement, but as for taking your measurements, it can be done in a few minutes.”

The sentient opened his case and pulled out a thin sheet of some kind of metal. It was folded over several times and as he flattened it out, she could see that it formed a large circle. He placed it on the ground.

“If you’ll just step here, Miss Briefs. This will scan your body and give us a 3D rendering that we will use to build your pieces.”

Bulma had seen such tech on Earth before, but never quite so compact. 

“Will my clothing effect it?” she asked as she got up from her desk.

“No, it is designed to detect certain types of organic matter only.”

She nodded and stepped onto the disk. It lit up for a few seconds before powering down.

“You’re all done, Miss Briefs,” he said as she stepped off.

Bulma looked the man over once more. “What exactly are you making?”

She wasn't the type to leave her clothing choices to just anyone.

The sentient folded his disk back up before he turned to face her. “I will send you preliminary designs this evening. If you could let me know of your preferences as soon as possible, I shouldn't have any problem producing at least one garment for the gala at the end of the week.

“The end of the week?” she asked, mind searching over the stack of invitations back in her rooms

Galeo nodded eagerly. “It is the anniversary of the end of the Great Strife—one of Vegeta-sei's biggest celebrations,” he said and she got the idea that this was probably one of his more lucrative months as well. If the king was sending him, then he was someone of note.

“Great Strife?” she asked absently. It sounded about as unpleasant as most saiyan holidays.

“Oh yes, Miss Briefs. There was a terrible civil war thousands of years ago between two factions of the saiyans. Some did not wish to live by fighting while others lived for battle," he said, leaning in as though whispering some juicy gossip. "Needless to say, the more bloodthirsty side won,” he added knowingly.

So the saiyans hadn’t always been like this. Some of them had tried to change, but they hadn’t lasted. 

"The end of the war was also when the first King Vegeta was crowned and the the start of the Saiyan Empire. Of course, they didn’t really have space travel back then—some rudimentary stuff only, but it was enough."

_ Enough for the saiyans to get a foothold within the galaxy, _ she thought.  _ The Great Strife, huh? _

“Is it just a party or . . .” She hesitated to finish, not wanting to stereotype or offend her hosts, even in the relative privacy of her own office.

The sentient shook his head dismissively. “It's been _ages_ since they did blood sacrifices. The current King Vegeta put a stop to it when the Saiyan Empire separated from the arcosians. For all that he is a saiyan, he’s very different from others of his race.”

She’d gotten that impression as well. Most saiyans seemed to look down on her and the other scientists in the complex, but the king obviously respected her and was interested in her work—he’d even sent a request in this morning for Bardock to come to him on a weekly basis to give a full accounting of their progress.

Galeo continued on, obviously loving the sound of his own voice. “They used to hold a massive tournament where hundreds of fighters would compete—usually to the death in order to prove the growing might of the saiyans and be that much closer to their Great Ancestor, the super saiyan.”

'Great Ancestor' was another term she’d heard tossed around occasionally. The saiyans didn’t have any kind of deity that they worshiped, but rather the more physical manifestation of power and fighting skill.

“But Trunks is a super saiyan,” she said thoughtfully. She'd yet to see anything but blurry recordings of the phenomena, herself.

The maroon man seemed excited. “Yes, it's been interesting to see the reactions to a half-breed doing something that no full-blood saiyan has done in a couple of millennia. They won’t worship him because he isn’t one of them, but can not take their eyes off of him because he is _everything_ they want to be.”

_The saiyans were a strange group of people,_ she thought, _even Lord Turles._ The tailor eventually left her office and she sighed as she gathered her things and left as well. One of the guards posted outside escorted her through the palace to her destination and she did not even have to announce her presence as a large green scaled sentient opened the door to Turles’ chambers just as she walked up.

“Miss Briefs. Lunch has just been served,” he said gesturing for her to enter.

The guard followed her inside but stayed in the main room as the sentient lead her towards the terrace. It was a large space with a lovely view of the palace grounds. Turles hadn’t been placed high in the palace, but rather at the ground floor. They were surrounded by lush green foliage that had to have been imported from off-planet.  There was an artificial dampness in the air that should have been cloying, but was actually something of a relief after the dry heat of the planet. The food that was laid out was not the usual saiyan fair of mostly meat—they really were the poster children for the ketogenic diet—but she was slightly confused to see bread.

“Is that a muffin?” she asked.

Turles looked up from the pad he was reading. “I suppose that’s what it would be called on your planet," he said as he stood up to greet her. "This is a type of pastry found on Hailok, the capital planet of the Seijin Province. The hailo are vegetarians and I’ve grown accustomed to their cuisine.”

She nodded in understanding as she allowed him to escort her to her seat.

“How was the appointment?” he asked as he once more sat down.

Bulma shrugged. “It looks like I’ll be attending a gala at the end of the week.”

Turles' mouth formed a small 'O' of understanding as he nodded. “Ah, the honoring of the Great Strife. Yes, I will be there as well. If it’s not too forward of me, please allow me the honor of escorting you.”

She hesitated looking down at her plate for a moment. There were political ramifications for showing up with Lord Turles, not to mention . . .

“If you have someone else, I apologize—” he began but he hastily spoke up.

“No, it's nothing like that,” she said, her voice perhaps an octive higher than usual.

He rolled that around in his mind before speaking again. “Is there something I may do to alleviate your apprehension about me?”

The blue-haired scientist sighed as she met his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re doing with this . . . flirting of yours.”

He blinked stupidly. “I apologize . . . I was told you were unattached. I shouldn’t have presumed to try and engage you that way.”

She wasn't sure who he was talking to that he could know she was _unattached_ , but . . . “Why would you?" she asked, knowing there was total confusion on her face. "I thought saiyans didn’t like humans—the way we look, I mean.”

Understanding seemed to dawn on him as he nodded absently. “I am not your typical saiyan. I have been living amongst a variety of other sentient races for decades. I’ve come appreciate things  _ and people _ unlike myself.”

Bulma watched his face carefully as she nibbled on the muffin. He looked so much like Goku, but he was technically Goku’s uncle—decades older than her friend and probably old enough to be her father.

Not that you could tell.

She was honest enough with herself to know that at one point she had thought of making a move on Goku—not when they were just kids, of course, but she’d always had that thought in the back of her mind that he’d be a handsome guy when he grew up.

He’d definitely gotten there, but he’d also married Chichi. Bulma didn’t begrudge the other woman for all but tricking Goku into marriage—they seemed happy—but that bit of doubt about what it would have been like to be with someone so confident and powerful . . . it had never really left her.

One of the reasons Yamucha had never really stacked up in her mind was because he simply wasn’t enough. He wasn’t focused enough, he wasn’t ambitious enough, he was just . . . average.

Saiyans though . . . Bulma  _was_  slightly irritated that saiyans just weren’t interested in her. It had to be some kind of cosmic joke that there was a planet full of hot buff powerful men and most of them couldn’t stand the sight of her.

She raised a brow at Turles. “So you’re okay with ugly aliens, huh?”

He snorted. “Anyone who calls you ugly clearly can’t be trusted to make an informed decision about such things. One does not trust an expert in art if said expert has only ever seen two paintings in their life.”

_Smooth_ , she thought even as her expression remained neutral. “I suppose,” she said slowly. “But that’s sort of beside the point. I know you’re trying to butter me up for the sake of a contract with CC down the line, and I don’t know how things are done in the Seijin Province, but sex isn’t a requirement of our contracts. You don’t need to go to the trouble of feeding me and paying me compliments in order to secure trade with my company.”

Turles looked like a deer caught in headlights for a few seconds before he threw his head back and laughed. “Bulma . . . oh Great Ancestor . . .” he said trying to breath between laughs. His laugh was unlike Goku’s as well. “I believed you when you said you would consider doing business with us once the exclusive contract you have with Vegeta-sei is expired. It is not a corporate contract that I seek when I invite you to do lunch with me in my quarters.”

She blinked at him. “Then . . .”

He got up and came around the table to stand beside her. There was a distinct smell of musk that emanated from the saiyan and she wondered if she should try to bottle that and sell it back on Earth. It would be a guaranteed best seller.

“I do not wish to escort you to the gala as a courtesy between potential business partners but rather to declare my intent,” he said, something rumbling in his voice.

“Intent . . .” she echoed, eyeing him speculatively.

He nodded. “I would like the opportunity to . . . spend more time with you outside of our responsibilities to our respective peoples.”

Okay so that that seemed like a really fancy way of asking her out . . . she thought so anyway. Bulma bit her lip as he took her hand and she looked down at her small pale fingers held within his massive tanned palm.

He may have looked like Goku but he was far from her friend in terms of personality. He seemed charming enough, if a touch overbearing . . . which wasn’t exactly a con in her book. She’d always been rather strong willed and she needed a strong man who wouldn’t run for the hills the second she started yelling.

“Alright,” she said after a moment. “You can escort me to the gala.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortie chapter here and the next one is also on the short side, so I'm going to try and get 25 up this evening as well. I think I can do it. 
> 
> Some of ya'll were talking about Turles flirting with Bulma . . . Hope I did okay with that. ;P


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted two chapters today so if you're on subscription, sometimes emails stack so make sure you've read chapter 24 first. :)

Trunks stuck close to the other prince, pulling awkwardly at the collar of his formal attire. The grand ballroom of the palace was filled probably passed capacity with any saiyan who could afford to be there. This was the final grand banquet of the largest celebration of the year on Vegeta-sei. There had been feasting, and gift-giving, and tournaments for three days straight—like Christmas and Thanksgiving rolled into one. 

It was also the anniversary of the first time Frieza came to destroy Vegeta-sei and he'd been defeated, so there was an extra layer of weird for the lavender-haired prince as well.

“Must you latch onto me, boy?” Vegeta asked, a touch disdainfully.

“I’m  _ not _ about to be be left alone with these people,” Trunks said quietly and the prince gave him a long look before snorting in amusement and looking away.

“We’re not all so bad, Prince Trunks,” a voice said from beside him. The pair looked up and Trunks felt himself reflexively swallowing at the sight of the saiyan girl.

“Celera,” he breathed out with a swallow. He’d seen her around the commoner training grounds, but he’d not spoken to her since that first time—not with Raditz ready to tear her throat out. 

But he'd heard her as she’d narrated many of his sparring matches for her students since—analyzing his fighting technique and explaining his methodologies to the third-classes she worked with, but she hadn’t approached him again.  Prince Vegeta noticeably shifted at the revelation of her name, and since Trunks had met her the first time, he’d discovered that the House of Leekin was both revered on Vegeta-sei, but somehow persona non grata among the royals.

She smiled pleasantly. “I haven't seen you in the commoner training grounds the last few days. My students miss seeing you fight.”

Prince Vegeta was looking back and forth between them, his lips twisting into a scowl before his gaze fixed firmly on the noble woman. “You’re hardly a third-class saiyan,  _ Lady _ Celera,” he sneered. “What could you possibly be doing amongst the third-classes?”

She didn’t seem offended in the slightest. “My family has always been an advocate for the lower classes in the senate and my mother founded a training organization that specializes in assisting third-classes in increasing their strength. If they can re-test out of third-class and into second, their prospects for jobs and connections increase as well.”

Trunks nodded in agreement. “I’ve seen her and the other instructors. They help third-classes get stronger with training.”

“That’s right,” she said. “My family has extensive connections with many private armies and organizations around the galaxy. We also help with preparing them for employment through expanded education as well.”

“While getting _paid_ by these ‘organizations’,” Vegeta said disdainfully. “And depriving our own fleet of soldiers.”

Now she  _ did _ look offended. “We take donations, yes, but we employ thousands of instructors—elites who would normally never give a third-class the time of day. It can take years to help even one saiyan achieve second-class. It’s an expensive proposition which is why no one ever bothered with it before—and if the fleet wants soldiers, then they should train them, themselves instead of sitting back and only tking the ones they deem _worthy_.”

She sniffed at the prince before turning her dark eyes back to Trunks. “I actually came over to speak to you about your gravity chamber. You designed the original, yes?”

Trunks was slightly taken aback by the question. “I—I did—”

The other prince cut him off. “Those facilities are  _ only _ for use by the royal house—and as much as it might  _ pain _ you—you are  _ not _ royalty.”

Celera raised a brow. “I may not be of the royal house, but my love for our race runs just as deep as any saiyan. Those chambers could be used to help so many third-classes—they could elevate the entirety of our people.”

Vegeta’s head tilted. “Elevation of the entire species will mean that the third-classes will  _ remain _ third-classes, and so your point is moot.”

Celera was about to respond when a hush sounded over the room. The doors on the far side of the ballroom had opened and a guest had arrived—one that caught the attention of the saiyans. Trunks felt eyes on him as well and he tried to look over the crowd, but the lady apparently caught sight of the newcomer first.

“Wow!” she breathed, clearly fascinated. “Who is she? I’ve never seen her like before.”

People parted for the guest as they made their way into the room and Trunks was soon able to spot the center of attention.

Bulma had just arrived on the arm of Lord Turles.

“Shit,” he mumbled beneath his breath and the other prince looked over towards him, his eyes hard.

“Who  _ is _ she?” Vegeta asked, voice low and demandingly familiar.

He licked his lips before answering. “Bulma Briefs.”

The noble woman tore her gaze away from the human. “Is she the same species as your mother, Prince Trunks? Human? Do  _ all _ humans look like that?” Lady Celera asked.

His eyes twitched. “There are very few who look like . . . like my mother.”

Trunks saw the way Vegeta flinched at the revelation and the way his eyes ran over Trunks’ lavender hair and blue eyes before moving back to Bulma.

“Is that right?” he asked, this tone almost thoughtful. He slipped away from the pair, moving to the outskirts of the room and keeping to the shadows. Trunks watched his father and he wondered that he should feel so protective of his mother as the other prince eyed her speculatively.

He didn’t fear for her safety per se, but Vegeta was . . . aggressive. The thought of his mother . . .  _ handling _ the saiyan prince . . . Trunks swallowed uncomfortably and thought of following the other man, but a hand on his shoulder brought him up short.

“My prince,” a familiar voice said from behind him. 

Trunks turned and found Raditz standing close to him. He smiled at his lover and was about to say something when Lady Celera cleared her throat. Trunks looked over at her as she raised a brow towards Raditz.  The trio was silent for a few seconds and Trunks got the distinct impression that Lady Celera was waiting for something—something that Raditz seemed unwilling to give.

He let out a nervous laugh. “Lady Celera, you remember my . . . my friend, Raditz, son of Bardock and captain of the Red Guard”

“I know who he is,” she said lightly, but Trunks heard something strange in her voice. “A former third-class who somehow rose to become an elite—and refused to speak upon how he did it,” she added.

Raditz’s lip curled. “It is not that I refuse to speak on it, Lady. I have no explanation for my power increase—”

“Your father has done the same,” she said quickly, cutting off the excuse. “And now presumably even your brother, and yet you refuse to even share your genetics with the genetics labs so they can be examined and distributed—”

His lover’s eyes narrowed. “Distributed? My family are not stud stock for genetics office, and it’s funny that my family’s genetic code is so prized, when the  _ nobles _ have never allowed DNA to even be mapped.”

She sent him a flat look. “The houses have a responsibility to their bloodlines—”

“As do I,” Raditz said, his tone clipped.

Celera’s head tilted curiously. “I would believe that,” she said. “You and your father are certainly powerful enough to begin the establishment of your own noble house however neither of you have shown any inclination towards expanding your line. Your father is still young enough to sire many more children and you also are still childless. What are the houses to believe if you do not seek to increase your family’s power and standing?”

The guard captain’s lips were thin. “That we are as disinterested in imperial politics as the nobles are in the lower classes. Neither my father nor I or even my brother, have any intent to enter the political arena.”

Celera blinked for a fraction of a second before she threw her head back and  _ laughed. _ Raditz flushed as others looked over and Trunks could only continue to watch in wide-eyed wonder at the conversation.

“Your  _ father _ ? Disinterested in politics?” she repeated incredulously. “Neither naivety nor stupidity suit you, Captain. Bardock has the ear of the  _ king _ and he has made use of that influence these last twenty years to gain substantial power and the king has let him because it benefits him to do so.”

Raditz looked ready to physically launch himself at the woman so Trunks hastily stepped forward and wrapped his hand around the other saiyan’s arm.

“Thank you for the lovely conversation, Lady Celera," he said hurriedly. "But Raditz has promised to introduce me to a few people so we uh . . . need to get on that.”

She raised a brow but smiled good naturedly. “Of course, Prince Trunks. It was lovely to see you again. I hope to see you on the training grounds soon.”

He nodded emphatically and dragged Raditz off.

“She threw my father’s relationship right in my damn face,” Raditz hissed out once they had some semblance of privacy. “God damn nobles and their scheming bullshit.”

Trunks raised both eyebrows in confusion. “What exactly was that about? Genetics and then your father . . .”

“That is a long story that requires far more alcohol than I can safely consume.”

“That bad, huh?”

Raditz let out a disgusted snort. “Old wounds that have never even scarred over. The nobility style themselves as protectors of the lower classes, but the reality is that they used to control the genetics labs that most the second and third classes are created and gestated in.”

“And now they don’t . . .”

“No . . . They don't. The Genetics Office used to be independent of other departments and one of the houses—House Tabaga, I believe—had headed it up for the last few hundred years with the position being inherited within that family. My father was initially just a tech in the science division, back when it was nothing but a handful of scientists doing small jobs on behalf of whichever noble needed a scientific document to back up their proposals in the senate."

Trunks could tell that this bit of history ate at his lover in many ways. For all that Raditz didn't like Celera because of personal issues, the prince was aware that the captain was a supporter of House Leekin's reform initiatives and even the training programs that Prince Vegeta seemed to so despise.

"When the  king made him the head of the division, no one cared at first—it was a nothing department filled with sentients and had little bearing on the government as a whole." Raditz paused as though reliving some painful memory. "Then the king started creating new departments and rather than handing them over to the nobles, he put them under the purview of the science division, expanding its power and diluting the influence of the nobles in the government. Eventually he rolled the genetics office into my father's division as well, ousting the House of Tabaga from their highest ranking post. My father was an easy target that King Vegeta used to wrest power away from the houses.”

“That’s . . . I thought they were . . . um . . . together?”

Raditz grimaced. “They weren't always. I don't know exactly how long their . . . affair has been going on—and I don't want to know—but back then, my father went through hell because of the nobles and the anger they took out on him because they couldn't get to the king.” 

“But she seemed to think you and your father should . . . Are you . . .” he began, unsure how to ask the question.

The captain seemed to understand what Trunks himself was unsure of. “What she said is not far from the truth. We could try to establish a house, however . . . my father told me years ago to stop volunteering my genetic code for distribution. He told me that our line . . . isn’t meant to go any further than it already has.”

Trunks could hear the sadness in the other man’s voice. “You wanted children.”

The captain smiled mirthlessly. “I applied for many years but I was continuously rejected. I thought that perhaps I wasn’t strong enough and so I spent many years as a member of the planetary defense squads—I went from a third-class to an elite during that time. I went to apply again, but my father stopped me.”

“Why would he do that?”

Raditz’s gaze moved away from the prince and Trunks followed the other man’s line of sight until it rested on the king.

“My father knows things he shouldn’t know,” Raditz said slowly. “He walks a path alone carrying a burden that I wish he would relinquish. If he tells me that my line ends with me . . . then he’s telling me this to prevent something terrible.”

Trunks swallowed heavily as he eyed the king—his grandfather. Would the saiyan ruler truly do something so terrible? 

He looked back at Raditz. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

His lover met his gaze again. “It’s not for you to apologize, my prince. It is the way of this world—the way of many worlds. I know how the king thinks and I am grateful for my father’s warning.”

“But . . . what about Gohan?” he asked quietly, because if there was a threat to the boy . . .

Raditz shook his head quickly. “Kakarot’s child won’t be harmed—he is proof of the saiyan-human hybrid theory, but . . .”

“But what?”

The dark-haired saiyan hesitated before seeming to accept whatever truth was swirling inside his mind. “That boy will ever be allowed to procreate with another saiyan unless it is one of the royal house.”

“That’s . . . that’s terrible,” Trunks said, rearing back.

Raditz's face was blank. “It’s how he’ll survive.”

 

* * *

 

The king watched as Raditz spoke to Trunks—watched the familiar way they two interacted as the evening passed. He’d felt their eyes on him at one point, but whatever they’d been discussing had long since passed and instead they were leaning in close to one another and occasionally laughing. A saiyan prince . . . laughing. Others had noticed as well. Trunks already stood out because of his power and exotic looks, but his very demeanor set him apart as well. So far, most kept a respectful distance, still unsure how to interact with someone who was saiyan, but was so obviously set apart from them. 

But that would only last for so long. Most found his looks somewhat repugnant, but others like Celera of House Leekin could not take their eyes of him. Her’s wasn’t a calculative gaze, either.

“Raditz can only keep them away for so long," a familiar voice said as they approached.

Vegeta looked up as Bardock came to stand beside him. “I’d hoped to give him a carefree life of training and family honor—a life his father would have wanted for him,” the king murmured.

Bardock didn't seem impressed. “You mean you hoped to use him as a bargaining chip to keep the nobles as well as our enemies in line,” he corrected crisply.

The king shrugged. “It’s all the same. He has . . . been through enough. There isn’t any need to burden him any further with politics.”

“Even with Radtiz beside him, Trunks will be cornered at some point and someone will say something untoward.”

Vegeta snorted. “Yes, Raditz is merely _protecting_ him—he himself has no other motivations, of course.”

Bardock raised a brow. “As if _that_ hasn’t worked to your advantage. Trunks has little interest in saiyans other than Raditz, but I am surprised that you would let a former third-class court him so publicly.”

The king looked away. Bardock's eldest son was a good saiyan—one loyal to the throne, and politically a perfect choice for a prince with no standing within the government. He'd also keep his word to the younger saiyan to accept their relationship in exchange for Raditz's assistance with Bardock.

“You sell your son short," the king said with a smirk. "Besides, no one has dared say anything of Raditz—or you—in decades," the king added thoughtfully before his gaze slid back to his lover. "And your family’s rise to power will only be punctuated when Kakarot arrives.”

Bardock swung wide eyes towards him. “Ka—Kakarot? He’s coming here?”

The king allowed one of his more feral smirks to cross his face. “You didn’t  _ see _ that?” he asked.

The other man hesitated. “I did, but I’d hoped . . .”

That brought the king up short. “What did you hope? What do you  _ know?” _

Bardock's fists clenched by his sides. “When Kakarot arrives . . . many people will die.”

The king took hold of the scientist’s uniform, dragging the other man away from the alcove and into a side room. The door shut and the lights came on automatically.

“You said that Vegeta needed Kakarot to ascend," he said heatedly. "That they would push each other to power beyond limit!”

The younger saiyan nodded. “And they will, but . . . there will be a hard lesson to be learned.”

Vegeta felt some of his anger drain as his head tilted. “By who?”

“Everyone," Bardock breathed out. "Prejudices run deep, and those without the power to inflict pain on their true target will seek weaker ones.”

“Kakarot isn’t weak,” he said with narrowed suspicious eyes. 

Bardock looked up and their gazes locked. “No . . . and that is the lesson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that care, I actually really like Celera. She doesn't appear much in the fic, but she’s a good person over all like much of her house, which sucks because somehow her family always seems to get shafted in this story. Her temporoparietal junction is almost completely intact and that’s why she acts differently than others. Nobles have a much higher chance of that, but because they have bred with lower classes on occasion, many still don’t have full use of that particular part of their brains.  
> She's also genuinely attracted to Trunks as well—and Bulma to a lesser extent. It’s sort of like how ladies on Tumblr like the Asset from the Shape of Water and find him sexy. ::shrugs:: I’m trying to figure out if there’s something I can do about her later in the fic, but I’m not really sure about it yet.  
> As for Gohan . . . One of you lovely readers was king enough to comment and and ask about him a chapter or two ago and without spoiling anything, I'll say that I’ve been writing stuff that takes place more than a decade after this fic revolving around an 18-19 year old Gohan who was raised on Vegeta-sei. It's tied directly to that conversation between Trunks and Raditz. I think it would be a fun story to maybe fully write one day. :)


	26. Chapter 26

Trunks helped the other saiyan down the hall, waving off the guards who offered to help him. Raditz's quarters were closer than his and truthfully, Trunks hadn't seen the other man's place yet. They usually preferred the prince's quarters because there was more space. The other man mumbled nonsense as they moved towards his quarters.

“I knew I’d get you to my bedroom one of these days,” he said, his words slightly slurred.

Trunks rolled his eyes as he finally reached the right door. He slapped Raditz’s hand over the reader and the room opened. They stepped inside and the lights came on, but thankfully stayed dim. He spotted the bed and helped the other man towards it.  He all but dumped Raditz onto the mattress and he took a second to look around. There was the standard issue furniture, of course, but he his brow furrowed as he noticed a lack of something. 

There was nothing in here that spoke of Radtiz as a person—not like there was in the prince's quarters. He'd sort of figured out that they were living together, but it had't fully registered that Raditz didn't use these quarters at all. Suddenly, his chest felt tight and his lung empty as he stepped away from the bed, intent on leaving when he felt a hand on his wrist. Trunks jumped slightly as he turned back and stared at the other saiyan.

Raditz's eyes were open. “Why aren’t you mine?” he asked, his words slow.

The prince shook his head. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

“No one else," Raditz said softly. "Just mine.”

Trunks swallowed and looked away as he attempted a laugh. “Come on Raditz. We haven't been together that long—”

The hand on his wrist tugged hard, pulling him back towards the other man. “Long enough for me to know that there won’t ever be anyone else.”

The prince felt his heart stutter inside his chest as he stared towards the door—towards escape. “You’re drunk, Raditz," he said quickly. "You don’t know what you’re saying.”

The other man sat up and once more he pulled. Trunks could have easily broken the hold—he should have easily pulled away and left. This wasn't a conversation that he wanted to have.

“I know exactly what I’m saying," Radtiz said heatedly. "I know what I want—I know what you want—I even know why you won’t let me . . .”

Trunks couldn't even look at him. “You don't know anything,” he whispered.

 

"I know that you're afraid—afraid of the future and so you've decided to be alone so it'll hurt less."

The prince grimaced. “That’s the way it has to be. I need to be strong—”

Raditz sat all the way up and reached out. He took hold of Trunks' chin, cutting the other man off as he forced their eyes to meet. “With a saiyan mate you can be!" he hissed out. "We are not soft humans to be demanding frivolous things of you. We value strength and power. With every display of new stride you make, I want you all the more.”

The prince bit his lip. “Everything that I ever loved is gone because I was weak," he said quietly, a wet sound catching in his voice. "I can't let that happen again and If I . . . If I allow anything else in . . . I may slip.”

Raditz leaned in close to him, their foreheads touching. “I won’t let you, Trunks. I’ll never allow you to be weak.”

Trunks swallowed, his mind a mess of indecision. He looked at the other man's sad eyes and couldn't stop the way he leaned forward until his head rested on Raditz's shoulder. He trembled against the other man as he thought over their short but intense history. He’d never intended to get attached to Raditz. It was supposed to be a casual thing—one that stopped when inevitably the dark-haired saiyan left him. 

But he hadn’t. 

He’d come to Trunks first when he’d finally returned to Vegeta-sei and he’d not left Trunks’ side since. The prince looked up again and for the first time, he really contemplated who the other man was. Raditz _wasn’t_ human—he didn’t ask for Trunks to pause his training the way Bulma and Chichi did. He didn’t try to pull Trunks’ focus from the one thing that all but defined his existence.

_ Getting stronger. _

Could he do this? Could he take the risk?

“I won’t ever put you first,” he said, his voice neutral and flat.

Raditz nodded shallowly, his breathing shuddering as he acknowledged what Trunks was offering.  “I don’t need you to,” he answered.

The prince swallowed as he spoke again. “I won’t ever have any children.”

His lover hesitated and Trunks knew the pain the other man was in, but eventually Raditz nodded. “My line . . . is already ended,” he said softly.

Trunks looked away, unable to face the other man's pain for a second before he leaned in again and wrapped an arm around his lover. He held Raditz close until they both calmed slightly.

“I don’t want the throne," he said into the captain's hair. "But I need to be the strongest.”

“I won’t stand in your way,” Raditz said as he reached down and took Trunks' hand.

The prince sighed and pulled away enough so that he could look the other man in the eye once more. “And they can’t know.”

Raditz let out a sharp exhale before nodding. “I’ll keep your secrets.”

Trunks was silent before he licked his lips and hesitantly nodded in return. He wrapped his hand around the back of Raditz’s neck and pulled the other man to him forcefully. He breathed in the scent of the pure saiyan before taking the other man’s lips and pushing his tongue inside.

When they finally pulled away, his breath was short, but his eyes were lingering.

“You’re not really drunk are you?”

Raditz snorted. “You never let your guard down—even around me.”

The prince snorted. “Are you sure this is what you want? I can’t . . .”

“I already said that I don’t need you to think of me," Raditz said, cutting him off. "I just need you to let me stay beside you.”

Trunks sighed as he nodded. He’d all but abandoned the idea of ever engaging in a lasting relationship with anyone, but Raditz was _unlike_ anyone else. He put duty and ambition before feelings and that . . . that was what Trunks needed.

“Promise that you won’t leave me,” he whispered, a thread of desperation weaving through the words. If he . . . if he allowed this . . .

“I told you that you’ll never be rid of me, my prince.”

Trunks nodded and felt something within him curl up and warm. _Perhaps this was love,_ he thought. Perhaps he could love Raditz.

“It’s late but . . . I’m not tired,” Raditz said as he brushed a kiss along the prince's jaw.

“Oh you’re not?” Trunks asked with a raised brow.

The captain pursed his lips. “I’m in the mood to . . .” he trailed off and Trunks snorted out a laugh as he pushed away and stood up.

“You just want to see me beat someone up,” Trunks said with a knowing smile. 

Raditz shrugged. “As hobbies go, I could have far worse.”

Trunks supposed that was true as he walked over to Raditz’s closet and started going through the uniforms and training suits. There was only the barest of selection—most of which seemed to be the stuff Raditz hadn't wanted to bring to the prince's chambers. Thankfully, there were few holes in the garments.

“Stealing my things are we?” his lover asked from his place on the bed.

“Well, I’m not going to the training yards in this,” Trunks said gesturing to the finery of his gala uniform.

Raditz waved him off. “Fine, fine.”

The pair of them changed quickly and while Trunks may have been dressed down, there was no disguising who he was.

Not that he bothered trying.

They walked out and down the hall and there was a lightness to Trunks’ step as though a weight had been taken off him. This thing with Raditz—it had always seemed like some temporary wild thing that would burn brightly and then flame out when Raditz figured out that Trunks couldn’t give him what he wanted.

But Raditz . . . he wasn’t asking for more than the prince could give. 

They took off out of the courtyard beyond the grand palace entryway and a few of the nobles quickly spotted them leaving. A few even called out to him, but he ignored them in favor of soaring through the spires of the palace with Raditz, a smile on his face.

He noticed quickly that their destination wasn’t the one he’d thought it would be.

“Why are we going to the elite training grounds?” he called.

“Change of scenery—and because you owe me!”

The celebration was still in full swing back at the palace so the elite training grounds were almost completely empty when they arrived. He avoided this place like the plague usually—mostly because of Vegeta and his pathological need to injure himself to the point of near death in his quest for the power of the super saiyan. Trunks hadn’t actually been back there since Raditz’s return nearly four months ago.

As they made their way towards the shielded areas, the prince thought he knew the reason for the new location.

“I’m surprised you waited this long—I sort of thought you’d forgotten,” he said as he put his palm over the scanner that would let them into the area reserved exclusively for the royals.

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten, but I know you aren’t fond of being here and I don’t think the scouters and monitors of the commoner training ground would survive you.”

The gravity chambers were clustered to one side of the expansive domed room and they walked towards them at a steady pace. Trunks found that he was almost . . . excited. He hadn’t been able to power up to super saiyan since the last time he fought Vegeta. 

The half-breed hoped the other prince ascended soon so he could begin taking trips back to Earth and into the time chamber. Months had passed since he’d been able to power up fully and when it came to ascension, you used it or you lost it.

Trunks could have left, of course, he could go there and be back within hours but . . . there was a fear in the back of his mind that if he left—even for a few hours—that someone would come and destroy the planet while he was in the chamber and out of contact.

Spies for all the great empires were surely watching him like a hawk—waiting for an opportunity.

They entered one of the gravity chambers and Trunks allowed his head to crack back and forth as Raditz turned the machine completely on. The shielding around the royal grounds would stop his power level from being detected, and the gravity chamber had its own shielding as well.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked. 

Raditz smiled. “Let’s do at least a bit of sparring before you hand me my ass as a super saiyan.”

Trunks knew that his smirk was all his father. “I’ll be handing you your ass even without ascending.”

The taller saiyan snorted as he stretched his muscles. Trunks did the same and before too long they were both ready.

“Alright, rank lover,” Raditz said. “Let’s see what you got.”

The prince let out a chuckle, but soon the two were going at one another, punching and hitting and kicking as they attempted to get the best of their opponent. It was purely one-sided as it always was, but he could feel Raditz’s steady rise in power everytime they fought. 

His lover had no ambition to become a super saiyan, but he still wanted to be stronger. Truthfully, Trunks hoped that Raditz would never experience the emotional horror that brought about the transformation. If the prince had his way, Raditz and the other saiyans would never experience loss the way he had . . . they’d never have to live in fear or die in terror.

“If I’ve bored you this much, my prince, I think it’s time you give me what I want.”

Trunks stepped back with a smirk. “Sorry. Sparring is . . . relaxing to me.”

“Glad I could be of service.”

If Trunks were merely transforming to train or in battle, he would slip into the golden coat with ease, but his lover was looking to be impressed so . . .

He let out a roar that would carry for miles in open terrain as the power of his ancestors welled up from the deepest pits of his psyche. He called up on the fire that had burned the sense from him that first time and allowed it to overcome his mind as the flames of the transformation began to engulf him.

He felt the scalding heat in his eyes blinding him for a fraction of a second as though he’d looked into the heart of a dying star. His screaming went up an octave as his hair rose up and clumped together into a flare of golden spikes.

Raditz’s mouth dropped open as he watched and Trunks kept his eyes on the other man as he stepped forward.

“I saw the vid feeds,” the dark-haired saiyan murmured. “But you . . . You’re so much . . . more.”

Trunks released the power and felt his hair fall back down around his face as he sighed. Raditz moved quickly towards him, his hands coming up to cup the prince’s face. He met those dark eyes once more and smiled at the slight awe he found in his lover.

“Worth the wait?” the prince asked.

Raditz leaned in and at first Trunks thought he was going for a kiss, but the angle was wrong and he realized that just their foreheads were touching—the contact being so strangely intimate despite the number of times they’d had sex. They were simply . . . existing together.

The dark-haired saiyan smiled. “I feel like I’ve been waiting all my life for you.”

Trunks swallowed and shifted them as he leaned up and kissed the other man.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Vegeta grimaced as he watched Turles make the rounds, the blue-haired woman on his arm. Many of the saiyans in attendance didn’t know quite what to make of the human, but seemed deferential enough given her status as an ally of the savior and a military contractor for the empire.

And Turles was lapping up the attention, presenting them as a matched set. Gossip was sure to spread within the hour that Turles wanted not only Earth, but the Earth woman housed within the palace as well. 

After all these months, the idea of her has always been somewhat abstract. She’d been more of a plot point in the grand scheme of galactic history for her genetic contribution to Trunks’ distance.

But seeing her—knowing now that she was real—more than a footnote and knowing that something about her had drawn him to her . . . he had a hard time understanding what exactly it was that he should do with this information—with the things she was making him feel.

Especially because she was just so damn ugly.

The very sight of her should have ended any interest he had in her. Her repulsive appearance should have been so off-putting that he walked away. But there was no walking away from the fact that in another life, this was the woman he’d chosen—of the trillions of people in the galaxy—it was her. 

And there was something . . . something about the way she smiled at Turles that made his skin crawl with a strange possessiveness. She wasn’t his and yet he could not help but feel as though she was. Bulma Briefs was the mother of the most powerful warrior in the galaxy. What right did a low-class deserter like Turles have to even breathe the same air as she?

Bulma . . . the woman . . .  _ his _ woman.

Because while she was the mother to Prince Trunks, it was  _ Prince Vegeta _ who was the father—not Turles or any other saiyan. It was only through her union with  _ him _ that Trunks would be born.

The prince felt his eyes narrow as he turned away, unable to watch as Turles glided a finger down her arm before taking her hand into his. His fist clenched as he headed for one the shadowed alcoves that led away from the ballroom and into the palace beyond. Guards stood to attention as he passed by and with every step his mood plummeted.

Vegeta had never given any thought to a mate or children. He had training to do as well as his day to day responsibilities as prince of a thriving empire. He’d grown up watching his father chase after the third-class, Bardock and he’d always felt incredibly disdainful of his father’s actions. Why should a king expend so much of his time and energy on the . . . the affections of a single saiyan—much less a third-class scientist?

The king hadn’t had any problems discarding a noble saiyan such as Turna of House Leekin. He’d all but banished her from the palace and probably would have forced her out of the capital if not for the fact there there were no other real cities on the planet.

King Vegeta had all but succumbed to the most base of desires—the want of a mate. The prince was well aware of the fact that he’d been created in a lab and truthfully, he’d always thought that such emotions had been purged from his genetic code, but the festering anger he’d felt when he’d seen her with another man . . .

He had no reason to feel this way—he didn’t know her apart from a single fact: she was his choice.

And it always came back to that didn’t it? 

But even with that . . . did he truly wish to embark on a relationship that would lead to the birth of a son—a half-breed heir to the throne of the Saiyan Empire? He wasn’t sure . . . not yet, anyway. He needed time . . .

The prince’s steps stuttered before coming to a halt. He wanted time to watch, time to think, time to plan, but . . . what would he do if Turles succeeded? What would he do if the woman decided to take the saiyan lord up on his offer to expand her company into the Seijin Province when her contract with Vegeta-sei expired?

She would be gone.

Vegeta felt his eyes flatten.

No . . . No  _ Turles _ would be gone. That disrespectful would-be super saiyan had long since overstayed his welcome. Negotiations for technology and trade had ended weeks ago, but still he remained.

Vegeta made a snap decision that had him turning down a rarely used hallway. He could not openly challenge the other saiyan or he’d risk the trade agreements going sour, but he had another idea—a better one. 

The king’s command centers littered the palace—all manned with techs at all times. The king made all decisions for the empire from these rooms. There was no corner of the galaxy they didn’t touch.

No one moved from their position as he entered the room, their attention entirely on their tasks.

“Send an encrypted message to the Corellian Empire: Lord Turles has left the Seijin Province.”

“Sire?” The tech asked, clearly confused as to why they would inform an enemy of the Seijin Province that the protector of the territory wasn’t there.

“Just do it,” he said.

“Yes, sire.”

Vegeta nodded before leaving the room. He allowed a smirk to pull at his lips. The Corellian Empire was small, but persistent. They’d been slapped back into their place by both the saiyans and the arcosians on more than one occasion. They’d tried their hand at the Seijin Province a few times in the past, but Turles had personally taken out massive military complexes and even a city or two.

They would leap at the chance to try and carve out a bit of the province for themselves, but Vegeta knew Turles would push them back with little difficulty—but the key to it was time.

Months of travel to return to the Seijin Province plus months of travel if the saiyan lord decided to return to Vegeta-sei. If Turles did, the prince hardly cared. Whatever interest he had in the human would have assuredly worn off by then.

But for now, it wouldn’t be long before Turles would be forced to leave the human woman’s side. He’d keep his distance for now.

Vegeta made his way to the training yards instead. There was training to be done—especially with Kakarot coming. The prince still wasn’t sure what to think of Raditz’s younger brother. He’d grilled the guard captain about Kakarot when he’d received word of the third class’ impending arrival.

“He defeated the entire squad himself—without any effort.”

“He can not be as strong as Prince Trunks,” Vegeta had said with a raised brow.

Something had churned in his stomach when Raditz had looked away. “I don’t know—I never saw him power up completely. He was as secretive as Tr—Prince Trunks.”

Surely Kakarot was nowhere near the level of the super saiyan. Vegeta clenched his fist as he entered the training yard. The elites that were already there, bowed towards him as he passed, but he ignored them all as he made his way to the section reserved for the royal family.  He pressed his palm to the scanner and the doors opened smoothly. All three of the precious gravity chambers stood before him. He headed for the closest one—only to find it occupied.

The prince’s eyes were wide as he took in the sight of a super saiyan. Trunks stood with his back to the door as that golden aura swirled around him in a majestic helix.

Vegeta gritted his teeth as he beheld the—the _boy_ who was so much more powerful than he. The prince was about to barge in there and demand a fight when someone else stepped into his line of sight. Raditz came forward, his expression awed, which meant that this was the first time he was seeing it as well.

Trunks let go of the transformation, his hair falling back into the straight lavender tresses. Raditz reached out and put both his hands on the half-breed’s face, holding the other man still before leaning in and saying something.

The prince blinked as he realized that this— _ this _ _moment_ was meant to be a private thing between lovers. He’d known of course, in an abstract way, that Trunks was romantically involved with Raditz, but seeing it—seeing the  _ low-class _ Red Guard captain touching the youngest prince . . . touching his—his _ son _ like that.

He backed away from the window, his gut churning and  _ emotions _ swirling. Everything about this was unfamiliar to him—this protectiveness and anger that he felt. Raditz might be a saiyan elite, but he wasn’t a noble, and now with his father relegated to playing second fiddle to an alien contractor in the bowels of the science division, he had no political connections or clout.

Raditz wasn’t worthy of a prince—much less Vegeta’s own son.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the dark haired prince immediately balked. Since when had he cared about how the classes mingled, much less whoever Trunks decided to be intimate with? Never . . . he’d never thought about it or cared. Power was all that mattered and Raditz, Bardock, and almost assuredly Kakarot were all saiyan elites in terms of power level.

He took a steadying breath as he headed for another of the gravity chambers. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, looking around the room. The prince wondered if other . . . parents felt this way about their offspring. His own father had never cared in the slightest about his dalliances, but then the prince rarely engaged in the behavior.

No . . . he knew that aside from the nobles who valued bloodlines, no other saiyan cared about anyone—their children, their families, or acquaintances—saiyans didn’t  _ feel _ this way.

So . . . why did he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We stan a prince who makes bad decisions because he's unable to process his own emotions LOL


	27. Chapter 27

Bulma wasn’t nearly as oblivious as Trunks thought she was. She’d grown up in the spotlight as the daughter of the richest man in the world and then when she’d taken a more active role in the company, the press had been ruthless for years afterwards, hounding her about marriage and boyfriends and babies.

Apparently, true happiness only appeared when you had someone else living in your home. 

It wasn’t that she was against marriage—far from it—but Yamucha had been the only boyfriend she’d ever had and while he’d been pushing for something more permanent from her, it just hadn’t ever felt right to her.

He’d been far too involved in their public image and constantly obsessed over the way they were perceived by others. He’d had his stint as a baseball player and he’d been very good at it and at first, things had gotten better because he had something else to focus on, but that hadn’t lasted. Someone would do something or say something and he'd get into a fight and things had only gotten worse.

And a year ago she finally ended it.

He’d been uncharacteristically closed-lipped about their break-up, which she appreciated, but the gossip and the paparazzi had just been that much hungrier and they’d skulked outside her home and office daily, looking for her next love interest, looking to see if she got back together with her famous baseball player ex. She’d come to Vegeta-sei to escape all that, and in all honesty she’d gotten comfortable. No one cared about who she was here and they certainly didn't care about who—if anyone—she was sleeping with . . . at least that's what she'd thought.

These last few weeks had felt strange, and at first she'd brushed off the feeling that—that someone was _watching_ her, but as the days slipped by and feeling remained, Bulma began surveying her surroundings more thoroughly and  . . . there was _definitely_ someone there. A shadow that observed her from afar, but never approached. 

Weeks had gone by with this person’s gaze on her. It wasn’t all day or every day, it was just an occasional warmth on her back as she presented her findings to the king before the nobles or when she strolled through the palace grounds with Turles.

Her relationship with Turles was a casual thing even if he insisted on having at least one meal with her nearly every day. She felt Bardock’s questioning gaze as she left either alone or on his brother’s arm. It wasn’t judgmental, but closer to the sheen of worry that blanketed Trunks whenever Turles was mentioned in his presence.

But the saiyan lord had never been anything but polite and almost soft-spoken around her. He was powerful, but he didn’t throw his weight around unless he felt like he was being disrespected. She’d only seen that once when one of the nobles had made some comment that she hadn’t heard, but  _ he _ had.

“What did you say?” Turles asked quietly, looking over her head towards someone.

There was a pair of men, nobles, she guessed by their dress. One of them was clearly the dominant one with his high power level and air of entitlement as he watched them. The other was sweating slightly, perhaps the more intelligent of the two if he was nervous about picking a fight with Turles.

The noble had raised brow. “I apologize,” he began. “I wasn’t sure if you were still even a saiyan anymore—given the company you keep.”

Turles’ head had tilted slightly and he blinked . . . he just  _ blinked _ and the scouters of the two nobles had both let out a shrill screech before exploding.

The pair of them stood looking down at their shattered scouters as Turles spoke. “I’m saiyan enough to know that when I blast you into the next dimension, “ he said as an amused smile pulled on his lips. “No one will care.”

The noble took a step back, shaking his head in denial of the saiyan lord's power. 

“Anything else you’d like to add?” Turles asked.

The nobleman glared at Turles but didn’t dare turn his gaze towards Bulma. Instead he turned and stalked away.

Her companion let out a snort before turning back to her. “I apologize for their rudeness.”

Bulma shrugged. “Don’t apologize for something that you didn't do,” she’d said as they began walking away, the sound of crushed glass beneath her shoe following them.

So Bulma was well aware of the danger she could have potentially found with Turles. Maybe it was the resemblance to Goku that made her let her guard down, but in the weeks she’d known the Saiyan lord, he’d never been anything but perfectly courteous to her.

And it was . . . nice . . . getting to know someone without the leering gaze of a photographer or the incessant questions from her peers at work. The only person who seemed to have an opinion on Turles was Trunks. Her friend never outright warned her off, but it was clear that he didn't trust Turles at all. Bulma couldn't seem to pry a reason out of him other than Trunks' overall wariness of saiyans as a general rule, so for now she was just ignoring the hard stares her friend sent their way whenever he was around. Bardock was mostly silent on that front as well. While Bulma wouldn’t have expected him to speak badly of his brother, it was a little odd that he didn’t speak at all.

The shadow that followed her seemed to have an opinion, however. It somehow became heavier whenever Turles was around. She’d tried catching whoever it was, she’d even asked for the security footage around her offices, but the video showed nothing.

So it was more of a surprise that anything when she felt it on her as she walked through the halls of the science division. The blue-haired woman ignored it as she usually did, but something was different that day. It was . . . closer. Her eyes narrowed as she abruptly turned and swung around a corner.

“Aha!” she said loudly before letting out a yelp as she ran headlong into a chest—a very muscled chest no doubt belonging to one of her saiyan hosts. She tried to jump back but an arm around her middle held her plastered to the man before her. Bulma looked up hesitantly, her chin brushing the blue fabric of what her brain was telling her  _ had _ to be a royal uniform.

“Shit,” she breathed out as her eyes met the dark gaze of what could only be Prince Vegeta. If the blue uniform didn’t give him away then the defined widow’s peak and upswept hair would have.

“Indeed,” the prince said softly in agreement.

There was something in his face that made her swallow uncomfortably as she became very aware of how close they were—how tightly she was pressed into him.

“Is it the usual practice of humans to go about screeching like a banshee?” he asked.

Bulma blinked at the question—and the strangely low tone of voice. 

“Is it the usual practice of saiyans to go around stalking people?” she responded even as her hands came up to push on his chest.

He didn’t immediately release her, but instead threw his head back and laughed. “My, what an inflated opinion you have of yourself.”

Bulma tilted her head. “So you  _ haven’t _ been following me?” she asked dubiously

He leaned in a touch closer and there was a smug expression on his face. “I’m impressed that you noticed,” he said instead of denying it. “Most would not have.”

The blue-haired human stared at him for a second, strangely fascinated that he’d actually admitted it, but then it was just as likely that saiyans didn’t have the same stigma attached to stalking that some human societies placed on it. It was then that she realized that she was still all but plastered against him. Bulma pushed a bit harder against his chest, resolutely ignoring the way his hard muscles felt beneath her fingers. 

“Let go,” she said firmly.

He raised a brow but acquiesced. She stepped back away and swallowed as she took the prince in fully. He was . . . really good looking—even for a saiyan. He was shorter than Turles, but his body had a more graceful appearance with an emphasis on speed and agility rather than physical strength. His eyes were dark like all the other saiyans but his flame-like hair was just his father's but rather than the chestnut brown she'd expected, his hair was a midnight black with a sheen that almost appeared blue when the light hit it a certain way. He was also far shorter that his father and she was aware that he'd been born from a lab—that he didn't have a mother in the traditional sense, but she couldn't help but wonder where the differences in his appearance came from . . . how he looked so different from his father.

Differences aside, he looked . . . regal.

She must have been staring too long because his brow quirked and a smirk began to spread over his mouth. The blue-haired woman coughed uncomfortably as she looked away, willing herself not to flush. What the hell was wrong with her?

Bulma looked back at him, regaining her nerve quickly. “Prince Vegeta, if you have something you require from my labs, please submit a purchase order through the science division and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I do not require anything at this time,” he said flatly and she blinked again, staring at him in silence for a few seconds.

“Then . . .” she began, floundering for a response. “Why have you been following me?”

The prince watched her, his eyes examining her expression openly. “I did not say I was following  _ you, _ ” he answered and she could hear the mirth in his tone. 

Well, the only people she hung around with, with any regularity were Trunks, Bardock and . . .“You—you’re watching Lord Turles?” she asked with wide eyes.

The prince’s flat expression never changed. “Among other things, yes.”

“Oh. um . . . well . . .” she trailed off, looking for some explanation, but her mind apparently was filled with buzzing bees . . . that is, until one thought speared through the haze. “Then what are you doing here  _ right now _ ?” she asked pointedly because Turles was in his quarters  _ waiting _ for her.

His smug expression drained instantly and he went from a confident prince to a man with nothing to say—a circumstance that happened frequently when people tried to talk to her.

He got a hold of himself quickly and thinned his lips. “You’re on your way to see him—you take meals with him every day. Are you planning something with him?”

She could see that it was a desperate attempt to deflect attention and she’d play along for now—embarrassing the saiyan prince wasn’t an ideal career move, after all.

Bulma shook her head. “I don’t have lunch with him  _ every _ day and not that it’s any of your business, but we’re discussing Capsule Corp.’s expansion once the exclusive contract with Vegeta-sei expires,” she said reasonably.

His narrowed fractionally. “If I remember correctly,” he said, his tone strangely thoughtful. “You are to stay put on  _ this _ planet until the king is satisfied with the 'expansion'  of the Imperial Fleet.”

Her head tilted as she realized that he was teasing her—throwing her own words back at her. The saiyan prince had clearly planned for this meeting, but she couldn't fathom why he would do such a thing when he’d clearly been uninterested in her all these months she’d been here. But even as she mentally searched for an explanation, his statement tugged at her thoughts because words—especially ones written on paper—had power.

“The saiyan fleet is . . . not large,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “It won’t take long to complete the retrofits.” Which was true and one of the reasons she had agreed to the contract.

The prince crossed his arms dramatically. “Reread the contract, woman. Retrofitting is the  _ first _ phase of the agreement, but you are also to supervise the construction of  _ new _ ships.”

Which made little sense in her mind. There was little reason to construct a host of new ships when they barely had enough people in their military to man the ones already in operation. Their numbers still hadn’t fully recovered from the arcosians and their purges, and they didn't allow other sentients within their domain to advance into the officer ranks of the fleet. Even if she built a hundred more ships, they simply didn’t have the manpower to do anything with them.

“The contract doesn’t say it has to be me,” she said with a raised brow. “My name is  _ only _ used for phase one—not for the other phases.”

The prince nodded shallowly. “You are, of course, correct, however . . . do you have many humans on your payroll that can stay on this planet long term?”

That brought her up short and she blinked.  _ Fuck, _ she thought. He was right. She was the only one with any ki training. Bulma was the only one who didn’t require gravity-cancelling bracelets. 

“Bardock works for Capsule Corp. now,” she said, thinking quickly. “He is a brilliant engineer and he’s run several departments before so we are considering promoting him to the project head.”

Truthfully, she wasn’t exactly eager to leave Vegeta-sei. The human woman found that she was enjoying her work and the quiet that came with being uninteresting to everyone else. She’d come to think of it as a bit of a vacation. Bulma missed Earth, of course, but Trunks could always take her back for a visit if she was feeling homesick.

“Bardock, son of Kartock will not be available to you forever.”

Bulma's brow furrowed at the statement. “Is he going somewhere?” she asked suspiciously. 

Perhaps they were going to try and rehire him for the science division head and steal him out from under her. The position had remained vacant since his departure and the king didn’t seem to be in any hurry to fill it. She’d heard that many nobles were vying to take over the division that oversaw so many departments within the government, but as of now, that office was still empty. 

She was aware that other sentients and saiyans from around the complex still came to Bardock for guidance and she was also aware that he was very uncomfortable with the attention when he was trying to work. While it wasn’t terribly professional for him, Bulma said nothing about it. She wasn’t an idiot, after all. If the king succeeded in convincing the man to return to his position, then  _ Bardock _ would be her client—he would be the person making the orders on behalf of the royal family.

He also seemed . . . close to King Vegeta even after their apparent falling out. She’d caught hints of conversations here or there about the saiyan ruler coming to labs late at night on occasion. Perhaps that was why Bardock preferred to work late.

Her attention moved away from her thoughts and back to the present and the prince’s expression was one of knowing—as though he was privy to some tidbit of information that she was missing out on.

“No,” the prince answered simply as he brushed past her and walked away.

She didn’t turn to watch him leave, instead her thoughts were on the future. Bardock wasn’t going anywhere, but he wouldn’t be available to her . . . which meant that the king  _ did _ intend to reinstate Bardock to his position at some point. Her saiyan co-worker had spoken little of the circumstances of his departure, but she got the feeling that he was simply existing there on the planet waiting for something—waiting for some shoe to drop and then he would disappear like a wisp of smoke.

She wondered spitefully if the prince was aware of _that_ , before shaking her head and returning to her original path. As he’d correctly deduced, she had plans with Turles for dinner.

Bulma knew the way through the palace well enough that she no longer required an escort. Many of the saiyan nobles no longer paid her any mind—she was just one of the many sentients that occupied the palace for whatever purpose had imported her. Some of them, she was sure, knew who she was. One or two had stopped her on occasion to speak to her about her work, but she got the feeling that many of them were only interested because they were looking for another inroad into the science division.

Except Celera of House Leekin. That girl just wanted to know all about Trunks. Bulma quirked a smile as she thought of the younger noble girl. For a saiyan, she was really sweet, but Trunks was practically glued to Raditz at the hip so she didn't see her making much progress. Raditz wasn't exactly her first choice of partner for Trunks—something about him just wasn't trustworthy to Bulma—but Trunks appeared happier as of late. The pair of men seemed to have found some kind of equilibrium and the Red Guard captain had all but moved into the prince's quarters.

Bulma walked down the familiar hallways and Grish, as always, opened the door before she hit the comm chime. He stepped aside quietly and allowed her entry. Dinner was set out on the terrace, but Turles was nowhere in sight.

She looked back at the attendant, but before she could ask, he spoke. “Lord Turles was called away a few moments ago with an emergency. I believe he will return shortly.”

“Emergency? Is something wrong?”

“I am not privy to my lord’s affairs,” Grish said simply.

Yeah, Bulma didn’t believe that for a second. Grish wouldn’t have told her that Turles would 'return shortly' if he didn’t know _exactly_ what was going on. The earth woman shook her head before heading for the terrace and sitting down at the table to wait.

She looked out upon the streaks of violet light as one of the suns set over the city. It really was like nothing she’d ever thought to see in her lifetime and Vegeta-sei, for all its rough edges, really was a beautiful planet. She could hear the faint sound of yelling in the distance—a common noise for a species that thrived on fighting. She'd heard Goku was coming soon. The entire Son family would be moving to Vegeta-sei and Bulma wondered what it would be like for Goku. Her friend had always been obsessed with being the strongest warrior, and he loved to fight. He'd always been so powerful on Earth, but she couldn't help but wonder if he would still be a big fish in a small pond or if he was in for a rude awakening. 

Trunks had always been secretive about the true extent of his power, and she was well aware that he'd passed on that particular habit to Goku. He was set to be a guardsman under his brother Raditz and the personal body guard of the prince. Someone— _probably Raditz_ , she thought sourly—obviously had passed along the idea that Goku could hold his own against Prince Vegeta. She didn't think her friend would have simply been placed beside the crown prince of the Saiyan Empire if there was even a shred of doubt about his abilities.

She was shaken from her thoughts and suspicions as the door to her host's quarters opened again. She turned away from the city view and spotted Turles stepping inside. He didn't notice her at first and instead, his attention was on Grish as he murmured something to the green-skinned sentient. Bulma could see the lines of fatigue on the man's face and left him alone to take care of whatever business was wearing on him. It was times like these when the differences between Turles and Goku became rather stark. Her friend hardly ever worried about anything, instead he always seemed to believe that things would simply work themselves out. Turles, on the other hand, had the look of a man that carried the weight of a world on his shoulders.

Grish eventually nodded in response to whatever was being discussed and stepped out of the chambers and it was then that the saiyan looked her way. There was a sadness in his eyes that had her approaching him even as he also moved to meet her at the terrace doors.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” he began but trailed off his nostrils flared. Bulma blinked as the saiyan’s massive hands closed around her shoulders and a nose was jammed into her shoulder.

“You," he began only to break off the statement and inhale once more. "Who has been touching you?”

Bulma brought her hands up to rest on his arms, her eyes with in confusion. “What—what the hell are you talking about?”

There was a snuffling noise as his nose rooted over her skin like pig looking for truffles. “Another saiyan has put his scent all over you,” he growled out.

The blue-haired woman's jaw dropped open before snapping shut. “Prince Vegeta?” she inquired. 

Turles abruptly ripped his nose away from her skin, his lips tight. “Him? Why would you . . .”

There was something so lost about him, as though he couldn't understand either someone touching her, or her _allowing_ it. “I don’t even understand what you’re talking about," she said with a shake of her head. "I bumped into him and he kept me from falling over.”

She could see from Turles’ expression that he thought it was a lot more than that. Bulma was aware that scent was very important to the saiyans and the more she thought about it . . . the earth-woman rolled her eyes. 

_Men._

She shot Turles an unimpressed look. “He said he had been watching you—probably just did it to be an ass.”

Turles raised a brow as his eyes moved over her. “You sell yourself short, woman.”

Bulma couldn’t help the smile that grew over her face before reality set in. “Saiyan princes and human weaklings don’t mix,” she said confidently before shrugging. “Besides, I’m not interested,” she added dismissively.

A smile quirked on his lips as he eyed her and it was then that she remembered. “Where were you?” she asked. “I just spoke to you and then when I got here, you were gone. Is something the matter?”

All expression drained from his face. “I must leave in the morning.”

Bulma shook her head in confusion. “What? But I thought you were staying . . . for a while longer?” She didn’t know where the words came from but she realized indeed, she was feeling apprehensive about the saiyan’s departure.

An apprehension shared by her companion. “The Corellian Empire launched an attack on the Seijin Province and breached our borders. I need to return to lead my people.”

She felt her shoulders slump. Turles was—was her friend—one of the few she would name as such on this planet—and now he was leaving.

“Are you . . . are you coming back?” she asked.

The look on his face told her that she wouldn't like the truth. “I don’t know," he said, and even that sounded like a lie. "It would be awhile before I could allot the amount of time a trip like this takes.”

“I . . . I see,” she said.

He reached out and took her hand into his. “You can come with me,” he said quietly, stepping forward.

Bulma looked up at him, her eyes wide. Go with Turles? Leave Vegeta-sei? Something churned in her stomach and she swallowed hard.

“I—I can’t,” she said, unable to meet his eyes.

He stepped closer. “Why not? You have no attachments to this planet. You came here because of Prince Trunks, but he is well looked after.”

Bulma swallowed uncomfortably, remembering her conversation with the prince. “I . . . I have a contract with the king—”

“To hell with the king!”

She gasped as his arm came around her waist and he pulled her towards him. Her jaw dropped open as she looked up at him. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning down. His mouth touched hers for only the barest of second before she turned her head away.

“I don’t . . . I don’t feel that way about you,” she said shudderingly, suddenly finding it hard to even breathe. He was so powerful, that even with her most basic rudimentary ki skills, she could feel him.

There was a silence that stretched between them and she felt him rest his cheek against hers and her eyes slid shut in pain—both his and her own. She'd hurt him and he was concealing his face so she wouldn't see. Bulma felt her fingers tighten on his arms, but she didn't push him away. Why had he done that? He was leaving and she . . . she couldn't possibly start something with a man she might never see again.

The blue-haired woman felt his shift and there was a soft kiss brushed against her temple, before he released her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, eyes downcast. “I should not have . . . have done that.”

Bulma nodded shallowly. "I'm sorry if I made you think that . . ."

"You didn't," he said. "Not really, but . . . Will you really be happy staying here on this planet?”

It was a question that crossed her mind every day, and she gave him the same answer she gave herself. “It’s not forever,” she said. “I have less than a year left on my contract.”

"And then you'll go back to Earth?"

She thought of Prince Vegeta and his intense gaze as he watched her—like a predator waiting to cull the weakling from the herd for consumption. _With Turles leaving, he would probably fade off again_ , she thought. His words though . . . he hadn't been wrong, but she kept her face serene.

"Bardock will be taking over for me, and I'll be going back to Earth.”

He nodded, his shoulders seeming to sag. “When you return to your home planet, may I . . . may I visit you?”

She smiled. “Of course. I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but this chapter was hard to edit for some reason. I added about 1500 extra words fleshing this out. I wanted to get this first impression between Bulma and Vegeta just right. They should just be like ships passing in the night, but of course we all know that this is the beginning of the end of Bulma's life as a single woman. The departure of Turles and the circumstances of it, I felt like I needed to rework a couple times too. I like Turles and I feel bad that he's getting shafted like this, but in the end, we can't fight fate and even if he'd stuck around, Vegeta wouldn't have put up with it for long.
> 
> I'm also being terrible and writing a Goku/Frieza fic that no one wants—and of course it's turning into a long _thing_ of a fic. 'Cause that's what this fandom needs, of course: an epic Goku/Frieza space conquering fic where Frieza goes all Negan to Goku's Rick. ;P I don't think I'll ever actually post it, but I like to write mostly for my own benefit. It's something of a fluke that Lost Prince is even being posted.


	28. Chapter 28

Vegeta walked ahead of the entourage that would depart with Turles, as well as a few of the people that would see the saiyan lord off. Bardock’s brother may have arrived with little fan fair but both princes were there to see him off—for different reasons, of course. Bardock had declined to make the trip citing a rather delicate experiment that he was running with capsule expansion timers and instead, he’d said his goodbyes a few hours ago.

The human woman was there to see of her soon-to-be  _ former _ paramour off and Prince Trunks was there to escort her. Vegeta on the other hand . . . he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come. Perhaps to get visual confirmation of Turles’ exit from the planet, perhaps simply for the pleasure of gloating.

The space had been cleared of civilians and the platform was empty except for Turles’ ship and the group. Vegeta turned around, his eyes on the way Turles gave a short bow towards Bulma and took her hand. The saiyan brushed a kiss over her knuckles and the prince clenched his teeth as she blushed. Trunks also shifted slightly at the gesture, his eyes resolutely anywhere but on the couple.

“I hope to see you again soon, Bulma,” Turles murmured against her skin.

The woman smiled. “I’m sure you will,” she said.

Vegeta couldn’t help the snort of disdain that escaped him, but it was quiet enough that only the saiyans in the vicinity heard it. Trunks blinked in confusion towards him but wisely said nothing as Turles turned towards the older prince.

“I thank you on behalf of the Seijin Province for your hospitality,” Turles said, his tone lofty. “And I look forward to a long-lasting and fulfilling trade between our two domains.”

Vegeta kept his face impassive as he replied with the required niceties. “You are, of course, welcome at any time to visit us again on your mother world,” he said while mentally going over what he would do to Turles if he ever saw the little coward again.

The saiyan lord bowed, his hand over his heart in allegiance before straightening. “If you wouldn’t mind, my prince . . . may I have a private word with you?”

Vegeta raised a brow, and ignored the way the human and her future half-breed son looked on curiously.

“Of course, Lord Turles,” he said, stepping aside as Turles walked away. The entourage began to filter away onto the ship or back towards the vehicles that would take them to the palace. The woman and Trunks remained on the platform, waiting for them to finish.

“I know what you did,” Turles said, drawing his attention. “You notified the Corellian Empire of my absence and instigated their attack on the province.”

Vegeta's head tilted, but he said nothing in response.

Turles nodded, accepting the non-answer as all the answer he needed. “I suppose you’re so far removed from anything outside this planet, that you don’t give a damn,” cracks of anger beginning to peak through his otherwise tranquil facade. “What I want to know is  _ why. _ Why did you do it?”

Vegeta felt his eyes involuntarily move past Turles to rest on the blue haired human. And while they left her quickly, the saiyan picked up on it nonetheless. He could see understanding dawn on the other man—understanding that was quickly being replaced by fury.

“A woman?” he breathed out. “You betrayed my entire province for a  _ woman?” _

Internally, Vegeta could feel doubt welling inside him. He  _ had _ done that, hadn’t he. He’d sent an enemy after one of Vegeta-sei’s allies—and all for a woman who was barely aware of his existence. 

Yes, he felt doubt . . . but he also felt no regret.

His eyes met those of the taller saiyan. “The human is mine,” he said, verbally admitting something he had only recently come to acknowledge even in his own mind. “She was brought to this planet for  _ me _ —not some transient third-class that ran away nearly half a century ago. You coveted something that isn't yours and these are the consequences.”

Turles sneered. “And _ is _ she yours, prince? I smelled you on her—smelled the way you tried to warn others away, but she had no idea, did she? She’s barely even aware of you.”

A true statement for now, but with Turles out of the palace, Vegeta would soon step into her line of sight, and there would be no forgetting Prince Vegeta after that.

“What I have or have not done is none of your concern,” he said stoically. “You will return to your province, govern your people, and you will forget that Bulma Briefs ever existed.” 

Turles looked at him before looking back at Bulma. She was talking to Trunks, smiling and laughing at whatever the younger prince was saying. His eyes moved between them before coming back to Vegeta.

“You don’t even know her but you already have her future chosen for her, don’t you—a brood mare for the royal family.”

Vegeta snorted as he met the taller man’s gaze. “I suppose your plans for her are any different? Tell me, have you told her about the  _ dozen _ half-breed children you’ve already sired with nearly as many concubines? Was her firstborn going be  _ your _ lucky number thirteen?” Turles’ eyes went wide and Vegeta couldn't help the malicious smirk that spread over his lips. “I thought not. Perhaps you planned to keep it a secret until she arrived in the Seijin Province and then simply spring it onto her after she’s locked herself into some contract.”

Turles shook his head quickly. “You are no better than me, Vegeta—watching her from the shadows like some feral beast. Your royal blood means nothing—”

“Oh but is does,” The prince hissed out. “My  _ royal blood _ affords me the ability to make her a  _ queen. _ To make her sons and daughters heirs to the largest empire in the galaxy. What could you give her? A life in a harem shared by a multitude of other men and women in a backwater little province that no one cares about.”

The man’s eye twitched. “Blood status and position aren’t important to her.”

Vegeta tilted his head. That was something he’d long since realized. Trunks’ father had been a prince of an annihilated world and would have had little to offer anyone—and yet she’d conceived a child with him and raised that child to adulthood despite the enemies that threatened to destroy them.

But that was the Vegeta of the old timeline.

In the here and now, he was prince of a thriving empire.

“Bulma Briefs is the only daughter and heir to the largest corporate conglomerate on her planet,” he began imperiously, smirking as he laid bare all of Turles’ insecurities. “She’s rapidly expanding her business throughout galaxy. It’s . . .  _ important _ to her. Even if you managed to lure her to your little . . . bucolic province—she would never remain there. Perhaps she wouldn’t care that I am a prince or that you are a low-born coward, but what  _ will _ matter to her is how her partner would affect her ability to do her job and pursue her passions intellectually. You are surrounded by dead space while Vegeta-sei is at the center of trade in the galaxy.”

He could see that Turles was becoming angrier with every word that spilled from his lips. Vegeta himself had no idea where these statements were coming from. He’d looked into her, of course—after the gala, he’d read everything the king had compiled about her. He knew she was an ambitious and driven woman, but he hadn’t cared about her intelligence or her love for her job—neither trait affected her ability to bear a child, but throwing the information into Turles’ face—rubbing the saiyan’s nose into all the things he could never offer her, while  _ Vegeta _ could . . . 

She had accepted the penniless and homeless Vegeta of the other timeline, but here . . . here he could give her unlimited resources for all the inventions and technology she could dream into existence. 

Turles sneered at him, his power level spiking causing Trunks to look up from his conversation with Bulma. She seemed confused as she looked over in their direction. Her alien blue eyes met his, but he ignored her confused and questioning gaze.

“She’ll leave you too,” Turles said quietly. “She won’t put up with your overbearing personality for long.”

Vegeta snorted. “She’ll put up with me long enough to give me an heir. After that, I don’t care what she does.”

Turles shook his head. “You’re going to great lengths for a child—a half-breed one at that. I assume your father is hoping for lightning to strike twice and for another half-breed to be born that’s like Prince Trunks. I wonder what you’ll do to the baby when it’s born as weak as its mother?”

The possibility was there, he supposed, but one glance at Trunks and the powerful figure he cut in his royal uniform dismissed any doubts. “Again, not your concern,” he said flatly.

The saiyan lord grimaced at his flippant attitude. “She’ll see you for what you are when that child is born and you turn your back on them.”

Vegeta pursed his lips slightly. “Maybe so, but it won’t be your shoulder that she cries on. Now be gone from my planet.”

Turles stared at him for a long moment before giving a mockery of a formal bow and turning to walk away. He didn’t look back at Bulma as she stared after him. Vegeta approached pale-haired pair and he could see the half-breed watching him. Saiyan hearing was quite acute, but Trunks was a half-breed. 

Had he heard all that?

His eyes met those of the younger prince and he could see that yes, Trunks had heard the entire exchange. Perhaps he should care, but seeing as Trunks was unlikely to say anything to the woman about any of this, he found that he didn’t care in the slightest.

They rode in the imperial transport back to the palace, and Vegeta said little to either of them as the trio got out of the vehicle. Bulma smiled at him and gave an informal bow of someone who was not a saiyan or citizen of the empire before turning to Trunks.

“I’m going to head back to the lab, alright?”

Trunks nodded towards her, though his eyes were on Vegeta. “That’s fine Bulma. I’ll see you for dinner tonight.” 

She looking between them for a second before giving her own nod of understanding and walking away, two guards flanking her on either side. The half-breed turned towards the older prince, his lips thinned in irritation.

“What the hell was that?” Trunks asked, his tone low as they still stood on the landing pad.

Vegeta crossed his arms as he smirked. “What does it look like? We are well rid of the interloper.”

The younger prince glared at him. “Interlope—Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

The dark-haired prince shrugged indifferently. “I don’t see any issue and besides, I did you a favor—you were starting to get . . . twitchy.”

Trunks’ brow furrowed in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Vegeta raised a knowing brow. “I know you couldn’t stand it when he touched her. It’s your saiyan instinct telling you that he’s not worthy of her—he’s not family. You were rather good at hiding it, but people would have soon begun noticing . . . and I’m sure you don’t want speculation as to  _ why _ you’re treating her as family.” 

Trunks flushed and looked away. Vegeta had spoken the truth. The half-breed had been keeping his more base instincts under wraps, and perhaps for someone who didn’t know who the woman was, Trunks’ actions were unnoticeable. But he’d observed the lavender-haired warrior becoming increasingly agitated by Turles—though never quite to the extent of a full saiyan. Having encountered the instinctual response himself on more than one occasion, he was familiar with the way it could almost force one to act. Trunks had been far more subtle and at first the prince hadn’t been sure if the half-breed even experienced it, but the longer Turles had dragged this on, the more certain Vegeta had been.

No one was worthy of Trunks’ mother except his father.

The prince kept his smirk firmly in place as he leaned in. “Quit complaining, boy—I’ve ensured your existence. One would think you’d be a tad more grateful.”

Trunks gritted his teeth. “My existence was  _ never _ the point.”

Vegeta paused, his eyes moving over the form of the man that was biologically his son. The younger prince was taller than he, with silky lavender hair and blue eyes set into a face that was irritatingly similar to his own. 

Everything in Vegeta’s life seemed to revolve around the savior prince—this boy that had both saved and upended all their lives. The king was all but obsessed with ensuring that their bloodline produced the legendary once again. Vegeta hated that it was slowly driving him insane as well. Yes, he wanted his heir to ascend but he wanted it for himself as well. He thought of the woman and her hesitant smiles and then this young man that had grown up without a father.

He wanted it all.

Vegeta met Trunks’ eyes. “Then you should never have come here,” he said before turning and walking away.

 

* * *

 

Trunks watched the other man exit the landing pad, taking off into the air the second he cleared the door. There was something different about this Vegeta compared to the others he’d encountered. The prince had always had many desires, but none had ever been important enough for him to actually work for it—besides his own power, of course. Things simply came to him or they didn’t. Trunks was well aware that the man’s relationship with Bulma Briefs had been one of convenience in the beginning. Bulma was tolerant of his personality deficiencies, well off, and could provide him with every training aid he desired. Bulma, apparently, had been easily pleased with the man simply being faithful to her and not being at all clingy.

This Vegeta though . . . he was actively pursuing her. He’d gotten Turles out of the way and Trunks thought it wouldn’t be long until the older prince’s scent began to permeate the labs. He’d never seen anything quite like it, but then he’d never been around Vegeta and Bulma together for an extended period of time.

“Are you planning to stand there all day?”

Trunks looked over and caught sight of Raditz landing on the pad. The guardsman walked quickly towards him, a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

Raditz’s expression said he’d already figured that out as he shrugged. “You and I both have the afternoon free, so guess where we’re going?”

Trunks snorted. “You really get off on being beaten up, don’t you.”

Raditz raised a knowing brow but said nothing about that. “Let’s go,” he said instead.

The prince sighed but took off with the other man, moving through the air and towards the outskirts of the palace. He expected to fly right over the palace walls, but Raditz waved towards him, indicating that they should land.

“Why are we meeting here?” Trunks asked as they landed outside the elite training grounds. He avoided this place like the plague usually—mostly because of Vegeta and his pathological need to injure himself to the point of near death in his quest for the power of the super saiyan.

“Change of scenery,” Raditz said simply.

“But you always told me you liked the people at the other one better—”

“Not anymore!” Raditz snapped back.

Trunks blinked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing.”

The prince continued to follow after Raditz, trying to sort through what it was that had upset his lover. It’s not like they interacted with many people at the commoner training grounds—only Celera with any kind of regularity . . .

_ Oh. _

Trunks bit his lip as he eyed the other man from behind. He’d have said something if he didn’t know Raditz wouldn't appreciate it. He kept his eyes on the other man as they walked through the massive complex. The last time he’d been there had been during the celebration of the end of the Great Strife. The place had been deserted at the time—a situation that was far from what he was walking into now. Similarly to the commoner training grounds, there were looks being thrown his way, but rather than the curiosity and awe, there was disdain and irritation.

“I will fight you half-breed!” someone called.

Trunks halted his steps and turned to look over towards the rapidly approaching saiyan. He was shorter than Trunks, but far more broad with wild hair in a rare shade of crimson. He reminded Trunks of his father in stature, but the man’s expression was far from even the mild tolerance Vegeta exhibited on a good day.

“What?” he asked, raising a brow as the man came to a stop.

The saiyan noble held up his hand, his finger pointing towards the prince. “I am Brushal of House Tabaga, and I am challenging you!” 

He heard Raditz sigh as he blinked in puzzlement at the shorter man. “Why?” he asked.

This brought the saiyan up short. “What? What do you mean, why?”

Trunks reached up and scratched his neck boredly. “I mean why? We don’t know each other. I haven’t done anything to you so . . .”

The prince trailed off as he heard disbelieving sounds from other the saiyans that had paused to watch and also from his lover. He looked over towards Raditz only the find the other man shaking his head in what looked to be exasperation.

Brushal let out an arrogant laugh. “I suppose the rumors are true then. You are no saiyan—no matter what the king says,” he said before lowering his voice and hissing out. “ _ False _ legendary.”

Trunks raised a brow, his chin rising up fractionally. “Fine,” he said simply. “Power up to your highest level.”

Now Brushal was crossing his arms. “My power level is over fourteen thousand. Yours is a mere two hundred.”

“Really? Your scouter tell you that?” Raditz asked with a chuckle.

The question made Brushal pause. “Of course! You may have all these weaklings fooled with your half-breed trickery, but everyone knows that power can only increase by fifty percent from powered down.”

The Red Guard captain shook his head. “So you’re telling me you think this boy with  _ at best _ a power level of three hundred somehow defeated  _ Frieza _ and is masquerading as the legendary and no one has noticed?”

A muscle jumped beneath Brushal’s eye. “I just arrived back on the planet but I saw the footage of Frieza’s defeat. Illusions and deceit might have saved you there, but up against a real saiyan . . . no wonder you’ve been cowering over in the commoner training grounds all these months.”

Raditz raised a brow. “You must not be very popular around here if no one has convinced you that this is a very bad idea.” A few of the others chuckled and it was clear that Raditz’s words were not far from the truth. 

Brushal bared his teeth. “Do not speak to me of popularity, third-class, when you’ve only gained yours by hopping from the bed of one noble to another.”

Trunks felt something in him shift. Raditz had a power level over thirty thousand at this point. He could wipe the floor with this pipsqueak and yet he didn’t seem inclined to say anything. He didn’t appear to be affected the words at all.

The prince however  _ was _ . He turned to full face Brushal. “So you just want to fight? I knock you out and that’s it?”

“Knock me—how dare you!” The saiyan sent a blast towards, but Trunks only flicked it away like a nat. It hit the shielding behind him, and was absorbed into the energy field.

Brushal’s brow furrowed in bewilderment. “That’s—that’s not possible. Your power level didn’t change at all!”

“Seems to be a lot of ‘impossible’ going around.” Raditz said with an indifferent shrug.

Brushal’s eyes went wide. “Show me! Show me your power!”

The prince tilted his head. “Is that what this is about?” Trunks asked. “You want to see a Super Saiyan?”

By now, others had moved closer, not even bothering to be subtle. They said nothing but their eyes were riveted on him. 

“I’m really not dressed for this,” he said, looking down at himself. He still wore his formal uniform and he’d rather not get it dirty with the sweat and grunge of a training saiyan.

“I don’t know why you’re concerned,” Raditz said placidly. “It’s not like he’ll even touch you.”

Brushal made an angry noise, but Raditz ignored him as he turned to address the other saiyans.

“Turn off your scouters!” he called.

One of the other nobles finally spoke up. “How will we know that he really is powerful enough if we can’t read his power level?”

“Those little machines won’t last—” the guardsman began but Brushal cut him off.

“Yeah right!”

Raditz blinked but shrugged before turning back to Trunks. “This may be the only time they see a super saiyan so make sure to give them a good show,” he said quietly.

Trunks snorted. “I’m not a performer you know.”

The taller saiyan’s lips spread into a knowing smile. “Sure you are. We both know you have something of a flare for the dramatic—all the royals do.”

The half-breed rolled his eyes before stepping away. His gaze moved over the crowd—at the expectant expressions from people who had no respect for him. Trunks had never been someone that cared about what others thought of him, but . . . the king would be displeased if he heard that the nobles were disrespecting a member of the royal house and Trunks did nothing about it. A slow smirk spread over his face and there was a shifting in the crowd as they took in the similarities between him and the other royals.

“He looks like Prince Vegeta,” someone whispered.

Trunks raised a mocking and his smirk spread even further as bits of rubble from the well-used training yards began to float up in the air, drawn by the gravitational forces he was creating as his energy increased. He clenched his fists and let the power well up inside him. Streaks of light began to pop around him, and he was forced to dial it back slightly lest he go super saiyan two. He had no interest in letting that particular cat out of the bag anytime soon—or at all if he could help it.

His lavender hair flew up into familiar saiyan-like spikes before the color began to change and glow. His aura erupted with a blinding flare and there were dozens of tiny shattering noises as the scouters in the vicinity exploded. His eyes shifted from blue to green as the transformation came to an end. There were several cries of surprise as the others took in the legendary state of the Super Saiyan.

“His power level is at least a million!”

“That’s impossible!”

“He’s the legendary!”

Trunks cracked his neck before gesturing vaguely towards the challenger. He probably should have let the saiyan off the hook, but it really wasn’t within him not to make an example out of the young noble.

Sweat had already beaded and begun to slide down the side of Brushal’s face as he trembled in the face of supreme power.

“Well?” Trunks asked. “That is what you wanted, remember? To fight a super saiyan? Fulfill your challenge and fight me.”

Brushal swallowed but powered up as far as he was able, and around them, the other elites looked on at what they expected to be a bloodbath.

Trunks stood still as Brushal launched himself. The noble unleash a flurry of attacks on Trunks—hitting his face, back and stomach with as much force as he could muster.

Trunks didn’t block the hits . . . he didn’t even feel them.

Brushal was only able to see Trunk’s raised brow for a fraction of a second before the prince raised his hand flicked his finger as though playing with a toy. The saiyan was sent flying back, crashing through two walls before finally being embedded in a third.

“O—One hit? He took out Brushal with just one hit?” someone yelled in surprise.

Another shook his head. “That wasn’t even a hit. He swatted him like a fly!”

Trunks looked around at the crowd. “Anyone else?”

They all took a collective step back and Raditz snorted in amusement. 

The prince glanced towards his lover and found himself chuckling as he took in the way the man watched him with slightly hooded eyes. “I get it,” he said with a leer. “It’s not you being beaten up that you like, but other people.”

Raditz shrugged. “What can I say, watching you mash people into paste just pushes all the right buttons.”

Trunks allowed the flaming energy to fade as his hair fell back around his face in soft tresses. He was about to turn away from the staring crowd until someone stepped forward and bent in the honorary bow that he’d seen done towards the king.

“We honor the heir! Long life and glorious battle!” the saiyan said.

The others swiftly followed suit and Trunks shrugged before turning back to Raditz. “This is why I don’t go super saiyan,” he said, not acknowledging the grandstanding.

“They’ll get used to it,” Raditz said as they began walking away, “Though you need to be careful.”

“What? Why?”

The Red Guard captain leaned in. “Those are men and women from the noble houses. The king is the king but that doesn’t mean they aren’t without power. They honor you as the heir . . . that phrase is usually reserved for the crown prince or princess.”

Trunks’ steps faltered. “I didn’t . . .”

Raditz sighed. “Yeah, I know, but Prince Vegeta can be a bit on the touchy side when it comes to your power, so . . .”

Trunks nodded without Raditz having to finish the sentiment.

They stepped into the training room and began stretching. Trunks felt the eyes of the other saiyans as they plastered their faces to the viewport in the door. He felt the crowd though only a few of them would be able to see anything.

“The lower classes don’t act like this,” he muttered.

Raditz shrugged. “They’ve got more important things to do than ogle a prince. Their entire existence is devoted to getting stronger so they can rise out of their class. They won’t waste time just standing around watching someone else train unless there is a direct benefit to their power level.”

The prince nodded and the pair began sparring. He kept his power level low, allowing Raditz to get a few good hits in, feeling the injuries and working through the pain. It was nothing compared to what he’d experienced in the past, but the feeling was almost liberating.

He was sparring with another—having fun—not locked in a battle for the continued existence of his world or the universe, or training to face said enemy. He was living his saiyan heritage, that intangible unreachable thing his father had spoken of.

Vegeta’s pride in his race and how far he’d surpassed anything they could have ever dreamed of. Trunks somehow felt both happy and sad. Prince Vegeta lived in this timeline, but he wasn’t Trunks’ father—he wasn’t the proud warrior from the other timeline that told him to build a future with a pretty human girl.

Trunks unconsciously lashed out and hit Raditz harder than he’d intended, sending the saiyan elite hurdling back into the wall. 

“Ugh God dammit!” Raditz howled out.

The prince’s eyes were wide as he rushed over. “Oh! Sorry.”

“That’s even worse!” the saiyan grunted out as he got up, knocking dust and broken bits of the wall from his armor. “You were completely out it.”

Trunks grimaced, looking away. “Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

He hesitated and swallowed. “About my father,” he said after a moment.

“Prince Vedera?” Raditz asked searchingly.

Trunks shook his head. “No, I . . . I need to tell you the truth,” he said gestured towards the opposite wall out of sight of the viewports. He slid down the wall until his but hit the ground and Raditz joined him. The two sat silently as they felt the crowd outside eventually disperse.

The lavender-haired warrior looked over and met Raditz’s gaze. “I’m from the future,” he said slowly. “And my father is Prince Vegeta.”

Raditz’s brow furrowed in suspicion, but then his eyes moved over Trunks’ face and the prince knew that the guardsman saw the truth in his very features. “I knew you were hiding something,” Raditz said hesitantly. “But I didn’t think . . . I guess that explains how you were able to show up all those years ago.”

Trunk nodded, licking his lips. “I’m not sorry for keeping this a secret, but . . . I thought you should know.”

“The king and the prince know?”

“Yeah.”

Things were quiet after that. Raditz had looked away from him and his gaze was squarely on the other side of the training room. Trunks leaned back heavily against the wall as he waited for his lover’s reaction.

“We’re all supposed to be dead, aren’t we?” Raditz asked, something lost in his tone. “Frieza destroyed the planet, just like my father said, but you came here and stopped him.”

Trunks nodded. “Only a few saiyans, such as my father, survived.”

Raditz swallowed. “That woman . . . Bulma . . . she’s your mother, isn’t she?”

Now it was Trunks who looked away. “I don’t know what the king is thinking by keeping her here. They aren’t the same— _ he _ isn’t the same.”

The Red Guard captain grimaced. “I should think it would be fairly obvious. You are the legendary super saiyan. Why would he not wish for your existence?”

Trunks shook his head. “It was never like that. Vegeta was always stronger than I was—”

“He’s your father,” Raditz said, cutting in. “He had decades of training before you were even  _ born. _ Tell me, even in your original time, when you placed yourself at the same age as him—was he still stronger?”

The prince hesitated before answering. “I . . . no.”

“I thought not,” Raditz said with a nod of agreement. “For all that you admire him, you would have surpassed him, if you haven’t already.”

“He was almost god-like in his power,” Trunks said wistfully.

Raditz smirked. “I think I would have enjoyed seeing that. Will he be that powerful now?”

“I don’t know. Everything is so different—more different than I could have imagined,” he said, eyes meeting the other saiyan’s.

Raditz eyed him for a fraction of a second before leaning in and pressing his mouth to Trunks’. The prince let out a soft sound as he met the kiss and moved his lips in time with his lover’s. Raditz brought a hand up and cupped Trunks’ face.

The eventually pulled away and Trunks sighed as he leaned back. 

Things were quiet again until Raditz spoke up. “You’re not betraying her, you know.”

“What?” the prince asked as he turned his gaze back towards the guardsman.

Raditz blinked serenely. “That girl you still think of.”

Trunks froze. “How do you . . .”

The captain shrugged, unconcerned. “Kakarot told me about her and I’ve seen that picture you carry.”

The half-breed swallowed. “I know it’s not a betrayal, but . . . I thought we’d . . .”

Trunks trailed off, but Raditz didn’t seemed to require anything further as he answered. “I suppose she doesn’t yet exist in this timeline?”

The prince snorted out a laugh. “Oh, she exists.”

Raditz raised a brow. “Have a preference for the older ladies, huh?”

“It wasn’t quite like that,” Trunks said with a shake of his head. “She’s an adult right now—older than I am, but she was accidentally made younger and so physically we were a similar age. I found her you know . . . in this time.”

“She wasn’t the same.”

Trunks licked his lips. “No. The type of suffering we— _ she _ endured when our world was crumbling beneath our feet. It strips away so much. I won’t say it made her a better person, but it made her realize what was most important. The person that she is right now . . . she’s nothing like my Mai.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this chapter. It needed a lot of work and about 1500 more words to get it to a postable state. I also just started a new job at my school so that's taking up quite a bit of my time as well. Hopefully it won't take as long to get the next chapter up.


	29. Chapter 29

The king eyed Turna disdainfully. His former queen was still just as beautiful as she’d been thirty five years ago. Still carried herself with poise and grace as well as the undertone that she would revel in spilling blood. He’d enjoyed their time together, but he’d long since moved on from their sham of a mating.

“What brings the Lady Turna into the palace once more?” he asked as he leaned back and raised a brow.

Her head tilted curiously. “Should I not be welcome in a place I once called home?”

The king snorted. “This hasn’t been your home for decades, and if I remember correctly, you hated this place so much that you nearly bankrupted the crown for all the renovations you insisted on.”

She smiled, looking around. “It wasn’t completed before I left, but it seems to be agreeing with you now.”

He sent her a withering look. “Only because Prince Trunks got the Arcosians off our back all those years ago and we were able to take advantage and expand the empire. We were practically destitute before then.”

Turna wasn’t phased. “I did what you didn’t have the balls to do—to declare to the galaxy that we are no longer savages living in huts—that we are not slaves to the arcosians but a proud race worthy of respect.”

Even now, he still admired her idealism, however it had been declarations such as those that had fueled Frieza’s ire and his eventual attack on the planet. He remembered the way the tiny lizard had floated through the complex, his eyes calculating as workman and artisans completed their tasks and the structures took shape. The Imperial Palace of the Saiyan Empire was now one of the most famous landmarks in the galaxy, thanks to Turna’s insistence on employing the best architects and only using the finest materials to construct the beginnings of the imperial complex. Truthfully, every addition he’d made since had been designed by the people she’d chosen and done in the style that she’d selected.

Turna sighed when he said nothing. “I did not come here to argue with you, Vegeta. It’s been so many years since then and I can see now that perhaps I pushed for too much too soon, but it was for the good of our race.”

It was never her loyalty to the  _ saiyan race _ that he’d doubted. “Then why are you here?” he asked.

She produced a pad from a compartment in her belt and handed it over. “I am here on behalf of my niece, the Lady Celera. We would like to offer terms of betrothal between she and the prince.”

The king glared at her. “Vegeta will never marry—”

“Not  _ that _ prince,” she said only a touch haughty. “The  _ other. _ Prince Trunks.”

Vegeta raised a brow. “Trunks? What could you possibly want with my nephew? He not heir to the throne. He has no discernible power outside the palace.”

She sent him a knowing look. “Not every match is about power, my king. Celera has become quite fond of the prince. They get along well and it would be a good match for him in terms of his connections with our people.”

And a new inroad for the nobles. To bring a super saiyan into a house outside the royal family . . .

He kept his expression carefully neutral. “Trunks made his wishes known to me when he turned down the  _ God-King _ of Andromeda. He will never accept a marriage not of his choosing and I am honoring his request and keeping him out of the spotlight.”

“You mean you’re cutting him off at the knees,” she said evenly.

Vegeta raised a brow. “You will not force your way back into power through your niece or through Trunks. He will never vie for the throne.”

Turna shrugged. “He doesn’t need to compete for it. Already, there are plans in place to propose that he be made crown prince.”

For a second, it felt as though the air had been knocked from his lungs before anger overtook him. “On  _ what _ grounds?” he asked, snapping the question out.

The former queen’s smile became even wider. “Prince Trunks is the savior of our race—his power is unmatched and the nobles have taken notice. He is of royal blood and is clearly the superior warrior over . . .  _ your _ son. You banished Tarble for not being strong enough—the same rules apply. We will not ask for Prince Vegeta’s banishment, of course, however he is no legendary. Your little experiment failed and instead your own brother’s half-breed spawn has ascended.”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. Turna was one of the few people who could possibly generate enough votes within the senate to overrule him. The connections her family had with the other elite-class houses ran deep—it was how she’d risen to power as queen to begin with.

But Turna wouldn’t care if her niece became queen, there would be hardly any benefit to that so there was something else . . . 

“What do you want?” he asked, his eyes hard.

She blinked in feigned confusion. “Pardon?”

_ “What _ do you want?” he repeated. “You would not be informing me of your scheming if there was not something you wanted in return for  _ not _ going through with this.”

Turna pursed her lips. “Perhaps I merely wanted to see the look on your face, Vegeta,” she said flippantly.

The king let out a snort of disdain. “No. You’re far too calculating to be quite so . . . emotional.”

She laughed. “You know me better than anyone, Vegeta. It’s why we made such a good team.” He said nothing and eventually she made a dismissive gesture and continued. “Fine, yes. I do want something.”

“What?”

She leaned back in her own chair, making herself comfortable for the first time since she’d arrived. “I want another chance.”

The king raised a disbelieving brow. “Another . . . what?”

“I wish for the opportunity to produce another heir to the throne. Tarble was a fluke. There is no way that warriors as powerful as you and I could possible produce such a weak child a second time.”

He watched her dispassionately. “I will not make you queen—”

Turna cut him off easily. “I did not ask you to. I merely want to try with you once more to produce a son or daughter worthy of the royal family.”

His lips tightened as he rolled the idea around in his mind. If she did succeed in producing such a child, the senate would push for her status to be elevated to queen once more. She would then have firmer footing to set Prince Vegeta aside in favor of her own son.

However it had taken her nearly a decade to even produce Tarble. She’d never been his mate and his own father would have told him to get rid of her after only a few years of failure on that front, but he’d never disliked her—not personally—and he hadn’t even  _ really _ wanted to depose her. Despite her flaws, she was a good queen to their people, but even with his son’s astronomical power level, Prince Vegeta’s place as crown prince would have always been in doubt if she’d lingered.

Their relationship had never been an affectionate one, but they’d respected one another—at least until the the king had strong armed the senate into backing his decision to strip her of her title. She’d never really forgiven him, but then he’d never sought that out. Turna was firmly placed in his past—in the royal family’s past. 

“I will think on your offer,” he said after a moment.

She nodded in acceptance. “Do not think for too long, Vegeta. The nobles are pressing to present their proposal soon.” With that she got up and left.

The king sat behind his desk, his eyes falling shut. Inevitably, Bardock’s face floated through his mind.

_ “The fate of this planet has already changed drastically—irrevocably,” _ the king had said.  _ “Whatever you think is supposed to happen—” _

_ “She—”  _

The conversation ran through his mind including the abrupt end to whatever Bardock had been about to say. The king’s eyes snapped open. 

_ She _ . . . 

This was what Bardock was talking about. Bardock had known that Turna would come—known she would slither her way back into the king’s bed. 

Fucking  _ Turna _ was the reason Bardock kept pushing him away?

His lip curled as his fingers dug into the wood of his desk, splintering the surface.

 

* * *

 

Bulma leaned back on her desk as she looked over the equations that would solve for the gravity differential for the capsule tech going into the ships. It worked fine when it had gravity to help push the material into the smaller shape, but in a weightless environment, the smallest capsules they could create in a zero-gravity setting were still the size of a refrigerator.  Bardock was very happy with the progress but Bulma was irritated at the delays.

She tapped the marker on her chin in thought as the comm on her desk sounded. “Miss Briefs,” the receptionist said.

The blue-haired woman rolled her eyes. “I said I don’t want to be disturbed,” she said after pressing the button.

“Well, that is—Sir!”

The doors to her office slid open and her brow furrowed heavily. They were supposed to be locked. A man stood in the doorway and she knew who it was within a fraction of a second.

“Prince Vegeta,” she said, confusion coloring her tone as she came around her desk. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“The boy says you can make training aids.”

She blinked at him, turning the statement over in her mind a few times as she processed it. “What?” she asked as she came up short in terms of an explanation for his physical presence in her office despite the declaration.

“Trunks claims you to be intelligent enough to create robotic sparring partners,” he said, though his raised eyebrow said he doubted it.

“Prince Vegeta,” she said patiently after licking her lips. “I am in the middle of a complicated process—”

“I don’t care about your gibberish, woman. Can you make me stronger or not?”

Part of her wanted to rise to the bait, but another part of her—the more pragmatic side—told her that she still had orders to fill per her contract with the king.

“For right now, no—and it’s Bulma,” she said. “This may be gibberish to you, but this is the basis of the next generation of capsule tech being installed on the saiyan ships. The king’s orders are that this takes precedence over everything.”

He suddenly seemed quite bored, as though the very conversation they were having was a waste of his time. “In light of the fact that the science division does not have an official head,” he began flatly before his lips pulled into a subtle smirk. “The king has placed me interim liaison to the crown for the division—that means you take your orders from me now.”

Her jaw dropped open in shock before snapping closed. “So let me get this straight. You want my office to stop working on the retrofit of the _saiyan fleet_ so we can make robots that shoot lasers at you—just _you_.”

The smug expression didn’t change. “I do not think your entire lab is required for such a thing," he said placidly. "One person will be enough.”

Bulma nodded in acceptance. “I’ll have one of the lab techs—”

The saiyan shook his head as he abruptly interrupted her. “I am the prince, woman. I can hardly trust some lowly tech to create something that can withstand my power.”

“Then Bardock—” she began, already feeling bad for what she would request of her most brilliant scientist.

“I don’t want Bardock,” the prince barked out before tilting his head and moving his eyes over her in a familiar way. “I want you.”

Both brows flew up, not only at the words themselves but at the entire situation. She  _ knew _ that look and there was hardly anything to miss with the  _ tone _ of his voice. He’d acted strangely when they’d met in the hallway and then there’d been that weirdness between he and Turles at the landing pad and now this. He was almost acting like some cliche macho man from a trashy romance novel—which made no sense whats so ever given the fact that he was a saiyan— _ the _ saiyan, even.

Bulma debated on her next course of action. Did she call his bluff and tell him to take a hike or did she do as he asked. If he was indeed the new liason, then he was technically her client.

“Prince Vegeta,” she said with a grimace. “Our contract with Vegeta-sei is for retrofits and gravity chambers. You may request additional items, but rather than coming to me in person, you should submit a purchase order to the office, and we will process it as soon as possible—”

“I am uninterested in your blather, woman,” he said, frustration beginning to creep into his voice. “I told you what I wanted and now all you need to do is make it for me.”

She gritted her teeth. “With all due respect, your training aids are not a good usage of my time. This,” she said pointing behind her, “Is the type of thing I specialize in. I solve problems within the company and create solutions for larger issues.”

The rolled his eyes. “For someone so intelligent, you seem awfully dumb. You want to solve a problem? I’ve just given you one. Make the damn robot and you’ll have done your job.”

Her fists clenched by her side as she stood there listening to him. 

_ Fucking princes and their superiority complexes!  _

The skin beneath her eye twitched. “I didn’t agree to stay on this planet for a year just to sit on my  _ ass _ making robots for a spoiled prince!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, regret overcame her. Oh god, why had she said that?  _ Shit. _

His head tilted as he watched her but he didn’t seem angry. The prince took a step towards her, then another and another. The air suddenly seemed thin and she couldn’t help backing up herself until her butt hit the side of the desk. There was a soft thump as she reached back to steady herself on the desktop.

Still, he moved closer and Bulma contemplated whether she could reach back and hit her comm. Trunks was the last person she’d spoken to—he said he would come soon to look at her equations—so all she’d have to do was hit the recall button and he would answer.

Her hand moved ever so slightly over the desk, but suddenly she let out a gasp as hard fingers curled around her wrist. 

“Uh uh woman” he said softly. “No one needs to know of our business but us.”

“We don’t have any business—” she hissed out.

His smile was all teeth. “I think you’ll find that we do. You say you aren’t on this planet to do as I say . . . I’m here to tell you that that’s  _ exactly _ why you’re here.”

Of all the fucking self-centered  _ bullshit . . . _ “What exactly do you think you’re doing?” she asked as an icy calm settled over her. “Trying to intimidate me— _ scare _ me into following your orders?”

“Scare you?” he asked with a tilt of his head. “I did not think you were so easily bullied.”

Bulma’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you think  _ anything _ about me? We only met the one time—”

“You are very important to the empire so I felt it prudent to know who it is that I’ll be seeing . . . frequently.”

Frequently? Why would the saiyan prince be around her any longer than he had to be?  _ Something . . . something was going on here.  _ As she thought this, his fingers released her wrist but didn’t leave her arm. They stayed there, resting lightly on her skin and she shivered as she looked down at the gloved hand.

Bulma took a steadying breath. “What do you want? All this innuendo is just wasting my time. Tell me why you’re  _ really _ here and I’ll take care of it and we can _both_ go back to more important things.”

He was quiet as he face smoothed over. “You’ll take care of it?” he asked and there was a  _ careful _ quality to the repeated question, as though he was unsure if he’d heard her right.

“Yes,” she said confidently.

He nodded and something like satisfaction settled over him. “Alright, then. I’ll see you later.”

“Later?” she asked with wide eyes as she stepped away. Bulma sagged against the desk as the man walked away without another word.

The doors shut behind him and she blinked. “What the hell was that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait and that this chapter is so short. It's kind of a two-parter with chapter thirty so I waited to upload until they were both ready to go up together. If you're reading this before thirty has gone up, wait maybe 15-20 minutes and thirty should be up. I always give these chapters another read through on the posting page before hitting submit. It'll be up tonight though. :)


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Chapters 29 and 30 have gone up back-to-back so if you accidentally skipped 29, you might want to go back because this won't make a whole lot of sense without it lol.

Trunks didn’t react to the sound of the gravity room doors opening, nor did he react to the other man as he entered. The younger prince reached out and turned the machine off. Perhaps Vegeta could have handled four hundred times Earth’s gravity, but the lavender-haired warrior wasn’t interested in finding out.

He turned around to face the dark-haired prince but something caused his blood to freeze. “Why do you smell like Bulma?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

Vegeta’s expression was smug. “Perhaps because I’ve just come from her office. She’s offered to take care of  _ all _ of my needs.”

Trunks gritted his teeth. “I did not tell you and the king about my ancestry so you could stalk Bulma.”

“Stalk—you impudent brat!” Vegeta snarled out.

The half-breed shook his head. “Just leave her alone.”

Vegeta crossed his arms. “How can I? When I know what our union would produce.”

Trunks sighed and looked away. Hearing himself described as little better than a commodity was off-putting to put it mildly.

“You  _ can _ become a super-saiyan. I know you’ll get there soon enough,” he said warily. “What do you care about having a child who can, as well?”

The prince raised a brow. “You sell yourself short, brat,” he said with a strange knowing smirk.

Trunks looked up in surprise. “What?”

Vegeta eyed him with a strange curiosity. He’d long since lost the sheen of disgust he'd not bothered to hide whenever he looked at Trunks. It had been nearly a year since the half-breed had arrived and much had changed—things were  _ still _ changing if Prince Vegeta was actually seeking Bulma out.

The dark-haired saiyan took on a pensive expression. “My own son traveled back in time to save me and our people from destruction—something I know that my future self—the one that produced you—didn’t do.” Trunks looked away, but Vegeta continued. “No, I never would have bothered with such a thing for my own father, because I do not feel as you do. You inherited much from your human mother—an inheritance that brought you to me.”

Trunks thought back to the Bulma and Vegeta of the other timeline. “She pushed you too, you know. You guys fought like cats and dogs, but anyone could tell that—that she loved you. She always supported your quest for power.”

Vegeta flinched at the mention of the word ‘love’. It was a foreign concept to most saiyans, Trunks knew, but after witnessing the things he had . . . no matter what the saiyan prince said . . . he too was capable of love. But that didn't change the reality they lived in. Perhaps Bulma was the same person she'd been in the original timeline, but Vegeta—he would never be able to give her what she needed to love him in return. In the old time-line, the prince had nothing left to lose—there was nothing but his pride holding him back from giving his devotion to his human wife, but here . . . On Vegeta-sei, he would risk losing _everything_ if he tried to walk that path.

Trunks grimaced as he realized what he had to do. “Come here,” he said.

The older prince hesitated but took the few short steps needed to bring them closer. The half-breed guided them down to sit on the floor facing one another. Vegeta’s cape pooled around him in a blood red sheet.

“My father died when I was still an infant, but I’ve seen others,” he said, almost absently.

“Other . . .  me’s,” the prince questioned.

Trunks inclined his head shallowly. “Yes. That man . . . he was incredibly strong. He was always able to go so much further than I was, but I learned from him. I learned how to be strong.”

Trunks reached out and Vegeta swallowed before doing the same. Their hands touched and Trunks let his eyes fall shut. He hadn’t practiced this technique since the people of Yardrat had taught it to him, but now he was grateful for it.

He heard Vegeta gasp as he no doubt saw flashes of Trunks’ childhood—perhaps even Zamasu—as the lavender-haired warrior searched for just the right memory. 

_ There it is _ . . .

His father had known he was there watching, but the prince hadn’t revealed his presence to Bulma. The two were standing tucked against one another as they leaned on the railing of the terrace. The night had been calm and quiet with only the din of the city just beyond the gates of the compound. They would face Zamasu soon enough and Vegeta was taking a bit of time for himself with his wife.

“Vegeta,” she’d whispered.

His father had grunted out a reply that had his mother chuckling softly.

“I’m pregnant.”

The saiyan prince had pulled away from her, but he hadn’t released his hold. He’d looked her over as though searching for some obvious difference that he must have missed.

“I know you—you’ve been wanting another baby,” she said with a smile.

Vegeta had sagged a bit as he pulled her back in and fully embraced her. “I know I should have said something before . . .”

“It’s alright. It’ll be nice, I think, to have a little girl.”

The prince’s eyes were wide. “It’s a girl?”

“I don’t know, yet. It’s only been a month, but . . .”

“A daughter would be . . . good,” the prince said hesitantly.

Bulma laughed. “I love you, you know. You’re my prince.”

The saiyan had smiled in return—a crooked and unused thing that had Bulma leaning in and kissing him.

The memory faded and they returned to the present. Vegeta dropped his hand immediately. His gaze was on the floor rather than on Trunks and the half-breed watched as emotions shifted over his face. The prince had to see now that the circumstances of his relationship with Bulma in the other timelines were vastly different than they were here. He was capable of caring for another, but the journey that had led him to that point was long and would require more from him than he could give.

Trunks sighed. “Things are obviously way different here than they were there. I never came back here with the expectation of being born. I knew that I’d all but erased myself by defeating Frieza, so don't . . . don’t force something that’s not meant to be.”

The prince’s eyes moved back up and he met Trunks’ gaze. Something there caused Trunks to sit back slightly. There was an anger that he’d not been expecting.

“Are you alri—” he began but Vegeta abruptly stood up.

The older prince gave him one last long look before turning away and leaving the training room.

 

* * *

  
Bulma headed for her quarters. It was late and only Bardock still remained in the lab working. She hated leaving him alone, but he’d told her time and again that he preferred to work in solitude and so she simply allowed him to show up later in the day.  She sighed, cracking her neck as she turned the corner towards the hallway where she was currently staying. Her steps faltered as she spotted a figure leaning against the wall opposite her door. Her brow furrowed as she got closer and recognized the features of the prince.

The blue-haired woman rolled her eyes, ignoring him.

“Woman—”

“Bulma,” she said impatiently as she placed her hand on the palm scanner, intent on getting into her apartment and shutting the door on his face.

“Bulma,” he said through gritted teeth, his hand landing on her shoulder as her door opened. She turned around to face him.

“It's late and I’m tired,” she said as she shook off his hold. “We already talked about this, this morning. Whatever it is, submit a PO to my lab tomorrow and I’ll see about taking care of it.”

“I’m not here for one of your devices.”

Bulma blinked as she turned back to face him. “Then what do you want?”

He swallowed before stepping forward and she took a hesitant step back into her apartment. He followed until they were both inside, and he shut the door behind them. Her back hit the wall of the hallway and he followed until his chest was close to touching hers.

“You know what I want,” he said, hand hesitating before reaching out and touching her.

Bulma licked her lips. Oh she knew _exactly_ what he wanted. It had been more than a year since she’d broken up with Yamucha and thrown herself into work—almost two years since she’d had sex. Turles had obviously tried to instigate something with her, but she just hadn’t thought of him that way.

Did she think of  _ Prince Vegeta _ in that way? He seemed confident in his suit, but they’d only just met.

She snorted. “Yeah, I can see you thought you’d walk in here and I’d fall all over myself, but that’s not really how it works—”

The prince cut her off. “Humans are similar enough to saiyans that it  _ works _ almost identically. Unless you have something additional that the biology texts don’t cover?”

Bulma’s head tilted slightly. “You studied human biology? For sex?”

His mouth opened and closed a couple of time before he finally answered softly. “I did not wish to hurt you.”

For a saiyan, that was probably considered rather sweet.

“What’s different?” she asked suddenly.

“What?”

She raised both brows expectantly. “You said it’s  _ almost _ identical. What’s different?”

His eyes slid to her neck for a second before moving back to meet her gaze. “I’d be open to showing you.”

“Yeah. I don’t think so,” she said crossing her arms.

Confusion covered his face. “Why not?”

The blue-haired woman shrugged. “Look, we don’t even know each other, and besides, I know you can’t be physically attracted to me.”

“Why would you think that?” he asked, his eyes running over her.

Bulma made a dismissive gesture. “I’ve been told by plenty of saiyans that I’m borderline hideous to your people—and those were ones that bothered to be polite about it.”

Vegeta tilted his head as he reached out and ran a gloved finger through her blue hair. “I suppose I’ve gotten used to your appearance. It does not . . . bother me—anymore, that is.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Oh well in that case, the bedroom is that way,” she said snarkily but had to reach out quickly to grab hold of the prince when he took the words as a invitation rather than the sarcastic remark that it truly was.

“I was kidding!” she squawked.

There was a curious look on his face as though he was confused by the notion. His eyes moved over her face, as the hand that had rested on her waist tightened, bringing her closer. Even with this almost aggressive move, she didn’t feel unsafe with him. He seemed so confused by the fact that they were having a conversation instead of having sex.

Especially because the longer this was going on, the more Bulma  _ wanted _ to have sex with him. She'd had never had a one-night stand, but if ever there was a person to engage in such a thing, a hot alien prince probably wasn’t the worst choice.

The blue-haired woman bit her lip as she looked past him towards her bedroom door.

“Look, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll um . . . We can . . . but just the one time.”

Bulma was honest enough with herself to know that she could easily become attached. Yamucha had been her first and only and it had taken her nearly a decade to accept that he just wasn’t the right man for her. The last thing she wanted was to get emotionally involved with the saiyan prince.

“What if I want you more than once?” he asked with a raised brow.

_ More than once? _ He was talking about an affair—a casual relationship built only on sex. Her knee-jerk reaction was to throw the man out of her apartment. On Earth, she would have immediately said no. Being who she was . . . people approached her constantly but they always had an ulterior motive. The saiyans didn’t care about who she was, though. Vegeta probably just wanted a change of pace and Bulma was convenient. It should have been insulting, but somehow she wasn’t offended. It was just . . . different.

Casual . . . she could do casual. She was  _ sure _ she could.

“I mean,” she began choosing her words carefully. “You’re the prince. I’m a human engineer. There’s really no longevity there, so if we’re both on the same page that this is a temporary thing, then I suppose the occasional um . . . encounter is fine.”

His expression was considering. “You’ll let me fuck you until either of us is ready to move on?”

Bulma thought it over before nodding. “I guess so. Normally I’d demand at least dinner first, but that really doesn’t seem to be your M.O.”

His brow furrowed in confusion over her colloquialism. “I must feed you before I may have you?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not  _ having _ me. We’re having  _ each other _ in a mutually beneficial arrangement that will end when one of us gets tired of it.”

His expression flattened before he leaned in. “I wonder how long that will take?” he asked, but didn’t allow her to answer before he slanted his mouth over hers and dug his fingers into her back as he hauled her up against him. 

_ A kiss, _ she realized.

She’d agreed to this before even kissing the man.

His lips were softer than she’d thought, but the movement was far more aggressive than anything she’d ever experienced before and she felt his hardness through that skin-tight under-suit that he wore. He easily picked her up and carried her towards her bedroom. 

Her clothing was shredded along the way, scraps of fabric falling onto the floor as they got closer to the mattress. She fell back on it, only a few scraps of her shorts remained clinging to her thighs. He licked his lips lasciviously as he unhooked his overcoat and dropped it onto the ground. His boots and bodysuit followed and he was left in his underwear. 

She didn’t have long to admire his rather impressive physique before he moved over her. Heat seemed to roll off him as leaned down over her. The prince kissed her again and she’d thought that he would devour her, but Vegeta seemed more coaxing than anything else. His hand rested over her jaw as fingers moved through her hair.

Bulma had only kissed a few people in her life but nothing she’d experienced before could really compare to this—there was something almost visceral about having this man—this powerful creature—touching her, kissing her, breathing in her scent and moving his body over her like she was something to be worshiped.

“Vegeta,” she whispered as he finally released her mouth and instead moved on to her throat.

She looked up towards the ceiling, blinking rapidly and gasping as hard fingers gently squeezed her breasts. And then his mouth moved her her nipples and she had to bite her lip to stifle her moans. His heavy breathing was like a roar in her ears and she knew he was getting more and more turned on. His tail lashed behind him and she reached up and touched his face.

His eyes met hers as he sucked heavily on her nipple.

He was such a mystery. Why was he here doing this with her? She hoped it was something as simple and as casual as he’d stated—she hoped that he just wanted  _ her. _

The prince released her breast and moved back up to kiss her again. As he did so, she felt his hand move down between her legs. There was a hesitancy there but she didn’t try to stop him as he dipped his fingers into her folds.

Bulma pulled her mouth away and couldn’t help looking down to where part of his hand was disappearing into her body. Even his _fingers_ felt huge. She may not have experience with many different men, but she had enough experience with sex to know that she’d need something extra.

The blue-haired woman reached over and her hand landed on the bedside table. The prince looked up and tilted his head. She opened the drawer and pulled out a small box—a quick press of her thumb to the lock had the top unlatching and she opened it. Her face flushed a bit as her small collection of toys was revealed. She hadn’t brought much with her, but the objects were certainly recognizable to Vegeta.

“You pleasure yourself with that?” the prince asked as he too reached over and pulled the smooth silicone vibrator from the box. It was small—smaller than Yamucha had been and definitely smaller than the monster hanging lewdly between the saiyan prince’s legs.

She clutched onto the lube as he held the toy in his hand, examining it. Suddenly his fist clenched and the vibrator snapped in half sending bits of plastic and circuit boards flying.

“Vegeta! What the fuck!” she said, trying to sit up but a hand on her sternum had her pushed down again.

He dropped the pieces onto the floor beside the bed. “I do not mind if you pleasure yourself with your fingers or those other . . .  _ objects _ when I’m not around, but nothing will enter you but me from now on.”

She blinked stupidly at the possessive statement. “And what happens when you get sick of me next week?” she asked, balking. “You gonna get me a new one?”

He raised a brow and his expression was sly. “Fine, woman. When our arrangement ends, I’ll hand deliver whatever pleasure robots you wish me to.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. After their first conversation, she’d gone over the contract again and fully outlined the company’s plans. As of now, phase one of the Capsule Corp. contract was slated for completion in three months. The royal house had already begun making overtures requesting an extension, but she hadn’t agreed to it—even with the additional benefits being offered up by the saiyan empire. Bardock had already been informed of his upcoming promotion to department head after Bulma left, and barring whatever ominous message the prince had tried to send with that ‘Bardock won’t be around forever’ nonsense, she was scheduled to return to Earth in just over three months.

This prince and his little ‘promise’ would be little more than a memory, but she could enjoy it for now.

“Fine,” she said in exasperation, “But I expect it to be the latest and greatest that the galaxy has to offer.”

He leaned in with a toothy smile. “I  _ am _ the greatest the galaxy has to offer,” he said smugly before taking the lube from her.

_ God damn, he might be right, _ she thought as she watched him squirt the viscous liquid onto his fingers. He coated his erection until it gleamed and began to move into place when a thought occurred to her.

“Wait!” she said suddenly.

He looked up, eyes wide. “What is it?”

She swallowed. “We—we need a condom.”

His head tilted in confusion. “Con . . . dom?” he asked, sounding out the unfamiliar word.

“Yeah. You know . . . protection?”

The prince’s mouth dropped open. “You wish me to wear my armor to bed?”

Bulma slumped down and snorted. “Jesus.  _ No. _ I know saiyans have some control over their fertility, but I’m not a saiyan so it might be different, and I don’t want to get pregnant.”

He seemed taken aback. “You do not wish for children?”

The blue-haired woman hastily responded. “I mean yes, at some point. Just not right now.”

He thought a moment before nodding. “As you said, we can control our fertility. You will not become pregnant unless  _ I _ wish you to become so.”

“Yes, but how, exactly?” she asked. “Can you physiologically control whether you semen contains sperm or you just don’t ejaculate at all?” She hadn’t exactly done a ton of research into saiyan reproduction.

His jaw dropped open at the question. “I’m not here to give a damn biology lesson—”

“You will if you actually plan on having sex tonight,” she said with a tilt of her head.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Saiyan males only produce sperm if certain hormones are released. We have to  _ want _ a child in order to sire one. Saiyans by nature are selfish creatures. We don’t easily make the decision to be responsible for a brat. Our genetics labs take care of that for us, now.”

She pursed her lips in thought. “That’s actually rather fascinating. I guess Goku—”

“Do not speak of another man while we are in bed together,” he barked out as he cut her off.

She couldn't help laughing softly as he once again positioned himself between her legs.

He wasn’t overly long, she supposed, but he was thick. Bulma was grateful for the lube as she felt her muscles stretching to accommodate him. She flinched slightly at the initial pain and he stopped immediately. He moved and got up on his forearms, his eyes meeting her’s searchingly.

“Are you alright?” he asked, confusion coloring his tone.

She took a deep breath as she nodded. “I’m okay,” she said. “It’s um . . . it’s been a while. Keep going.”

He waited a few more beats before nodding and pushing in a bit more. She breathed in time with his shallow movements and he seemed intent on watching her face for any further signs of pain. Bulma reached up and pulled him back down onto her. He was heavy but she enjoyed the weight and held onto him tightly.  He froze at first but after a second or two he seemed to almost sag over her. She smiled into the skin of his jaw and kissed him softly. He eventually started moving again, bottoming out as his pelvis pressed flush against her.

Bulma felt the brush of fur against her arm and smiled as it twirled through her fingers. She moved her hand down the fur and felt him shiver.

“Does that . . . that feel good?” she murmured into his ear.

“Yes,” he said, mouth moving over her shoulder. She felt he prick of his teeth but he didn’t bit hard enough to break the skin.

Bulma continued to lightly rub her fingers over the soft fur of the saiyan’s tail even as her eyes rolled back slightly. He’d begun moving in a familiar pattern that had his body sliding over hers in a way that was . . . it was intoxicating. Soon enough, the gently shallow thrusts began to increase in speed and at first Bulma tried to stifle her noises, but the prince was having none of that.

“I like that you’re loud, woman—don’t disappoint me now,” he said just before licking a stripe over the skin of her throat.

“I’m not food, you know,” she gasped out.

He did it again before replying. “On the contrary, you’re a full meal.”

That really shouldn't have been as hot as it sounded, but she moaned out her pleasure just as he’d asked. The sounds spurred him on and he began twisting his body in different direction, angling his thrusts as though looking for something.

“Ah!” she cried when he hit a particularly good angle—the one her broken toy had specialized in—and he apparently found what he was looking for because he continued on and her ki began to fluctuate as she clawed at his back.

“Oh god! That’s good!”

“Not, god,” he said breathily. “Vegeta.”

“Vegeta!” she echoed as she came, the heels of her feet pressing into his ass to hold him still inside her as her internal muscles clenched violently around him.

Even as she came down from the orgasmic high, she still felt him inside her—hard and wanting.

“You want to try something else?” she asked as she caught her breath.

“I  _ want _ to fuck you.”

Bulma pushed at his chest and he leaned back until his erection slid out of her. “Don’t worry,” she said as she turned around and got up on her knees.

“How about this?” she asked as she looked over her shoulder. Within seconds he was on her, sliding back inside and his fingers were wrapped around her waist.

This wasn’t her preferred position, but she knew this one was the easiest for most men. They came faster when they had more control of not only their own movements but of her’s as well—and in her present condition, she was okay with that.

He held onto her tightly and there would probably be bruises later, but hearing the slap of his skin against her backside was nearly as erotic as the feeling of him moving inside her. She’d already come and she was sensitive—every slide and pull of him was like a jackhammer moving through her.

Her arms soon gave out, but he kept her flush against him as he continued to pound into her.

When he finally came with a low grunt, she felt the pressure of—of him  _ coming inside _ her. She blinked at the sensation, swallowing uncomfortably. Yamucha had always worn a condom—she’d insisted on it even what she’d been on the pill. 

She’d let this man that she  _ just _ met  _ ejaculate _ inside her.

Bulma felt her heart rate increase.  _ Girl, are you really that stupid? _ she wondered, her mind moving over earlier conversations and decisions now that the haze of lust had begun to wane. Forget pregnancy, he could have given her some alien STD, for all she knew.

_ Fuck _ . . .

He pulled out of her and moved to the side. Bulma fully collapsed onto her tummy and laid there thinking over her options for a few minutes. Tomorrow morning, she decided, she would stop by one of the clinics in the science division and talk to someone. Maybe he was telling the truth—maybe he was full of shit, but until she got an impartial declaration, she wouldn’t take any chances.

She heard him shift and get up. There was the distinct sound of clothing shifting and expected him to leave, but instead he got back into bed and sat up against the headboard. 

“Did I wear you out?” he asked.

She turned her head and looked up at him. He'd apparently just put his underwear back on.  _ Smug bastard, _ she thought as she pushed herself up until she too was sitting. Bulma tried to get out bed but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She paused and looked back only to have her mouth meet his.

Her eyes were wide as he kissed her, but within seconds she was leaning into him. She sighed when he eventually pulled away. He smiled that knowing smile and she rolled her eyes as she got up and headed for the bathroom. Already she could feel the sticky wetness he’d released beginning to leak out.

 

 

* * *

 

Vegeta leaned back against the headboard, watched as the woman picked an article of clothing out of her dresser before going into the restroom.

He’d done it.

He’d actually had sex with the human woman and more importantly, he’d thoroughly enjoyed it. Many times in the past, his status had led to . . . complications during sex. Some tended to treat him wish a strange worshipfulness while others tried to dominate him—only to end up flat on their asses.

Bulma, though . . . she  _ held _ him. Just as she had in the half-breed’s memory. Her arms had wrapped around his neck and back and she hadn’t let go. Trunks my have thought to scare him off from the woman—to show him something so completely alien to a pure saiyan that Vegeta would back away . . .

He’d thought wrong.

The prince wasn’t sure he would ever act the way the other Vegeta had, but he  _ wanted _ what the other Vegeta had. He wanted that devotion and security. He’d been alone his entire life, never quite trusting anyone—especially as they proved time and again to not be worthy of such confidence. Perhaps he could have befriended a noble or two, but there was always the nagging voice of doubt towards their motives, but the woman—even his son—they were _his._ Bulma wasn’t a saiyan . . . she didn’t see him as a meal ticket or a stepping stone to power.

For now, all she saw was a lover, but soon enough, she would see a mate.

Vegeta was tempted to go after her even now. Perhaps he would turn on the shower and take her again under the spray of water. He grimaced. He couldn’t do that—not yet at least. 

There had been a bit of blood—not much—but he’d smelled it nonetheless. She was no untried virgin, but she hadn’t had a lover in quite a while and she’d been tight. They would need to work up to multiple rounds in a night.

The door opened again and the woman came back out. She’d cleaned herself and the scent of his spend was no longer quite as potent. She wore a small bit of fabric that formed a top and shorts in one piece. It was made of some silky loose fabric that cinched in at the waist. 

The woman blinked as she spotted him there.

_ She’d expected him to leave. _

He raised a brow but rather than getting up, he pulled the blanket aside. “Come back to bed, woman,” he said.

She swallowed audibly but eventually nodded, walking on quiet cat-like feet towards him. She got back on the mattress and joined him in sitting up against the headboard.

“I can’t believe I just did that,” she said softly.

He snorted. “While the privilege of sharing a bed with someone such as myself—”

“Ugh,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Privilege, right. There are plenty of hot guys on Earth, you know—even princes. I mean that I literally just met you today and I just had sex with you anyway.”

Vegeta shrugged. “I wanted you—you clearly wanted me. There is no need to complicate what is an otherwise simple . . . transaction.”

She looked back up at him. “Transaction . . . I suppose you’re right. This doesn’t need to be complicated so . . . when I wake up in the morning . . . you’ll be gone, right.”

He let nothing show on his face as he nodded. “As you wish.”

She gave her own shallow nod before turning away and laying down. He eyed her blue tresses before doing the same, but he didn’t turn from her—no, he reached out and wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled her back until she was flush against him.

“You—” she began, her fingers digging into his forearm.

“Quiet, woman. I wish to sleep.”

She sighed before shifting and allowing her head to be pillowed on his arm. The woman was so small. She fit perfectly against him and he couldn't help the way his fingers splayed out over her belly.  Humans bore their children naturally. They didn’t use a genetics lab to pick and choose the best combination of DNA. He’d admit that he’d been tempted to simply take her DNA and use Trunks’ genetic material as a template to simply create this new half-breed prince.

However, such thoughts hadn’t lingered. Trunks was the way he was not because of Vegeta, but because of his mother. His future son had grown up without a father. It had been this woman that had cared for him and raised him to adulthood.

She’d said that she wasn’t ready for children . . . by his calculations, he had eight months to convince her otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while to edit. 29 and 30 initially had a combined word count of about 3K. They now have a combined wc or about 7.7K and tbh, I had to scrap a lot of the original stuff I had written. I hadn't intended for the to start their relationship like this, but after looking over my timeline, I realized that I needed to move some things around. I tried to flesh out the reasoning for this development during these two chapters, so hopefully this isn't too abrupt.
> 
> And we all love a good tfs reference(or two). ;P


	31. Chapter 31

Bardock sat across from the him, as he had thousands of time before, waiting for the king to ask him questions about his reports. The only difference was that now Bardock was a simple project lead for an off-worlder cooperation instead of the head of the science division.

He didn’t make his casual observations of Bardock known, but he couldn't help noticing the slight flare of the scientist’s nose as he’d entered—as he’d detected  familiar scent.

“She wants her niece to marry Trunks,” the king said abruptly as he dropped the pad report down without having read it.

Bardock blinked passively. “Who?”

“You _know_ who,” he said flatly.

His lover shrugged dismissively. “It’s really none of my business.”

“It is when she intends to crawl her way back into my bed.”

Bardock’s lips tightened, but there was otherwise no reaction. Vegeta snorted. Yes, he’d been correct—Bardock was unsurprised by the turn of events which meant he’d seen this coming. He’d known it was Turna from the beginning. He knew that she was intending to step back into queen’s chambers . . . but he still came to the king . . . he no longer turned away from Vegeta.

The king leaned forward. “Are you truly willing to keep being my side lover—the secret of the palace?”

The scientist sent him a withering look. “It’s hardly a secret, now is it?”

Vegeta shrugged. “I see no reason to hide anything.” And he didn’t. The fewer places Bardock had left to hide, the sooner this farce of a chase would end.

“You wouldn’t,” Bardock with both eyebrows raised. “And I won't—”

“Won’t what?” Vegeta asked, interrupting the other man before he could make a declaration that would only anger the king. “Stay with me once Turna invades these halls once more?”

His lover was silent for a moment before replying. “It wouldn't be good—for anyone.”

Vegeta snorted. For now he had no concrete plan for how to deal with Turna, but he’d never been one to simply let the chips fall where they may—No, things were held with purpose and discarded once their use had ended. Still, arguing with Bardock about anything was about as effective as yelling into the wind. His lover was one of the most stubborn saiyans in existence—all self-righteous fury and judgmental stares.

He changed the subject by picking up a data pad—the true reason he’d asked for the meeting—and handed it over. “Take a look at this,” he said.

Bardock took the pad and his eyes scanned over the contents. “This . . . this isn’t possible,” he said weakly before swallowing and looking up to meet the king’s gaze. “Someone is feeding you misinformation.”

Vegeta shook his head. “I’ve had the results verified by Andromeda.”

The pad fell from his lover’s numb fingers and it clattered loudly back onto the desk. “Cetus can not have been _destroyed.”_ Bardock all but snapped out. _“_ You’re talking about the annihilation of an _entire galaxy_ . . . The God-King _knows_ about this?”

Vegeta raised a brow. “The weurle were already investigating the . . . the incident when we approached them. There are no survivors that we can ascertain.”

Bardock looked away from him, his brow furrowed in mixture of confusion and fear. “You’re talking about trillions upon _trillions_ of sentients—how can they all just be gone?”

“I’d hoped . . .” he began, giving Bardock a long look.

“You hoped I’d seen something,” Bardock echoed as he looked away, shaking his head. “I haven’t—that doesn’t mean I won’t but . . .”

The king nodded and took the pad back. “Andromeda has pulled their people back into their galaxy, but the God-King does not seem to be concerned.”

Bardock shook his head. “ _We_ don’t have a God-King here to protect our people, though.”

Vegeta tilted his head. “We have Trunks.”

The scientist’s lips tightened. “None of us know the true extent of Prince Trunks’ power.”

“Perhaps not a concrete number but the God-King wants him,” he said with certainty. “You and I both know that in his . . . _very_ long life, that he’s never once taken a consort, officially or not—he’s never sought out an equal because he _had_ none.”

“So the God-King knows something about Trunks that hasn’t been revealed,” Bardock said thoughtfully.

“Don’t the weurle always seem to know everything?” the king asked wryly.

His lover hummed in thought. “And if the Prince isn’t enough?” Vegeta looked away, which had Bardock nodding knowingly as he added, “You have a back-up plan, I assume?”

“I . . .” the king trailed off, unsure how much he should reveal, even to the person he trusted most in this world.

“Tell me what you’re up to, Vegeta,” the scientist said with a serious tone. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

The king grimaced. “You wouldn’t help me with this, anyway.”

Bardock blinked placidly. “That bad, huh?”

Vegeta’s lips thinned as he thought over the folly of revealing too much. He kept so much of himself—his plans and ideas—to himself. No one could be trusted . . . Saiyans were loyal but they would eat their own if they perceived weakness.

“The God-King . . . he still wants Trunks,” he said after taking a steadying breath.

Bardock’s face flattened as he looked at the king, processing the words and their true meaning. “You’re selling your grandson to Andromeda?”

“No!” he barked out, offended. “But I . . . I have extended an invitation for the weurle to . . . visit again.”

His lover shook his head as he snorted derisively. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to the savior—and Raditz—actually I take that back. I _can_ believe it.”

Vegeta’s lips tightened. “The God-King may be coming here, but that’s hardly any sort of binding agreement.”

Bardock’s jaw dropped open. “You’re trying to manipulate the _God-King of Andromeda_?” he asked, his face masked with something bordering on horror. “By the Great Ancestor—are you _out of your mind?”_

Uncertainty surged within him but he let none of his doubt and . . . and fear show on his face. “I’m doing what I must to save our people—our galaxy.”

Bardock’s brow furrowed. “It shouldn’t be like this.”

“But _it_ is like this. _This_ is the situation we are in. I know Raditz is your son, but if it comes to it, we both know he will willingly step aside because he understands that certain things happen for the greater good.”

“They are practically already mates,” Bardock said with a despondent look.

Vegeta shook his head. “But they _aren’t_ mates.”

His lover sent him a withering look before sighing heavily and getting up. He came around the desk and leaned against the table top. “Are you really going to tie the saiyans to Andromeda like this?” he asked slowly. “And If Trunks is as powerful as you think he is . . . is it really the best idea to send him, not only off-planet, but out of the galaxy?”

The king’s lips thinned. “What else can I do?”

Bardock tilted his head. “I know you do not like revealing that you’re not perfectly in control, but have you thought of speaking to Trunks about this? About this power that has you on edge?”

“He knows—I _know_ that he knows.”

“And he hasn’t said anything?”

“Not to me,” Vegeta said heavily. “He spoke about it to . . . to the God-King, but no one else—not even Raditz.”

Bardock hummed consideringly. “I’m assuming you somehow heard the entirety of their conversation—what with your penchant for recording devices all over the palace—so I'm also assuming their conversation was less than illuminating on the source of this destruction.” The king looked away and Bardock nodded. “I do understand why you’re so concerned, but do we really need to give them a prince? How can we be sure of their protection all the way in another galaxy?”

Vegeta picked up another datapad and handed it over—conditions for a potential marriage agreement. “The God-King has promised us ships and he’s . . . he’s aware of Trunks’ ability to transport himself and others over long distances instantly. His people have said that if the planet comes under attack he will come here himself and destroy it . . . and we both know he can do it.”

Bardock blinked impassively as he read over the offerings. “And what will Trunks do if he’s tied to such a creature? Is the God-King really willing to marry someone, only to watch them age and die?”

The king looked away. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask about that.”

His lover handed the pad back. “You should—if you’re not only tying Trunks to an asexual creature, but also one that will stay the same even as Trunks ages . . . you’re asking a lot of your grandson.”

“I don't _think_ he’s asexual,” the king said stroking his beard contemplatively. “Would anyone really go to these lengths if there wasn’t . . .” Vegeta trailed off as Bardock glared at him.

His lover shook his head in exasperation. “Contrary to how you view relationships, many people find satisfaction in simply being with another person and . . . I don’t know . . . _speaking_ to one another?”

“We’re speaking _now_ , aren’t we?” the king said with a pout as he reached out and ran a hand down Bardock’s arm. “And besides, maybe I wouldn’t be so desperate if I saw you more than once or twice a week. I’d be more than happy to _talk_ to you as often as you like.

The king knew his expression was leering and the scientist chuckled. Vegeta licked his lips slightly as his hand moved up and around Bardock’s neck, pulling the other and down as the ruler moved up. Their lips met softly at first before Vegeta deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entrance.

As much as he wanted to extend the contact, Bardock pulled away slightly. “Not now,” the scientist said, swallowing as he looked towards the closed door quickly.

“Come to my chambers tonight,” the king whispered.

Bardock’s head titled. “Alright,” he said

Vegeta felt something inside him swell up. No fighting, no reticence, and no denial. He blinked in confusion as he struggled to understand that Bardock wasn’t arguing with him—wasn’t chastising him for wanting something he couldn’t have.

The king surged up once more, all but pushing Bardock back onto the desktop. He heard the clatter of things falling to the ground and thankfully the guards were well aware that when such noises sprang from the king’s office—especially when Bardock was there—they were to keep their position.

Vegeta’s fingers ran over his lover’s form, but the closures weren’t in the places he was used to. As he ripped his mouth away to look down and make sure he was disrobing the other man without shredding his clothing, Bardock’s hands suddenly stopped him.

“I said, not now,” Bardock gasped.

Vegeta licked his lips but nodded, his hands moving away from Bardock’s clothing. “I do long to see you dressed in your imperial uniform once again . . . It suits you far more than this,” the king said, gesturing to the rather nondescript white overcoat that hung down to Bardock’s knees. He wore a standard dark body suit beneath it, but it wasn’t the same thick luxurious material he’d chosen all those years ago. The scientist pushed Vegeta away and sat up, his fingers smoothing down the wrinkles where his overcoat had been pushed up over his hips.

“You stopped being able to dictate my sartorial choices when I quit—and don’t think I never figured out why you changed the uniform.”

Vegeta shrugged dismissively as he sat back in his chair. “I could hardly allow my lover to go _waddling_ around the imperial complex in . . . whatever that was.”

Bardock snorted out a laugh. “The Derin people are some of our most ardent supporters and allies—”

“I have no qualms with the Darin,” the king said quickly. “But their people have six arms and a ridged back full of spikes. Their clothing preferences are hardly fit for a saiyan—and besides, I don’t remember you kicking up much of a fuss when the imperial uniforms became standardized.”

Bardock’s head tilted in thought and the king knew that his lover agreed. He also knew that Bardock would occasionally admire himself in the king’s floor to ceiling mirrors after getting dressed. The king had always feigned sleep—not allowing himself the opportunity to argue with the scientist as he left rather than stayed—but he’d watched Bardock running his fingers over the material and he’d made mental notes over the years on how to better tailor the outfit so Bardock always looked his best.

He hated seeing those years of work discarded. Bardock’s uniform had always been something of a reflection of the king’s . . .  affection for the other man.

The scientist met his eyes as though sensing the king’s thoughts. He said nothing though as he stood straight again.

“When will the God-King be here?” he asked.

Vegeta swept his gaze over his lover as the other man moved back around the desk. “Four months. He—he wishes to remain on this planet for an . . . extended stay, so he must have things properly set up back in Andromeda to account for his absence, and even the fastest weurle ships take almost a month to get here from Silfacia.”

Bardock crossed his arms. “The nobles . . . for all they dislike a half-breed being a super saiyan—they won’t support you marrying him off to someone outside the race. They kept their distance from him at first because they didn’t know what to do about him. House Leekin is the first to come to you, but others will follow. Prince Trunks is too valuable just allow him to slip away on the arm of the weurle God-King.”

Vegeta felt his jaw clench. “I will handle the nobles,” he said, thinking back to the less than flattering offers from some of the lower houses thinking to ‘take the half-breed off his hands’. “And House Leekin isn’t the first to approach me, but they’re the first with any real pull in the senate. Trunks’ . . . _appearance_ was an adequate deterrent at first, but it looks as though the initial revulsion has worn off,” he said before sliding knowing eyes towards his lover. “For all that dark hair and eyes are the most desirable physical traits in a saiyan, blonde hair and green eyes seems to be just as . . . enticing.”

Bardock didn’t meet his gaze as he shallowly made his parting bow, but that was alright . . . Vegeta had waited for more than twenty-five years for the other man. The king allowed a smirk to form as the scientist left the office. He could wait a few more months.

 

* * *

 

The prince’s eyes flickered occasionally up towards the woman as she worked.

“You can stay,” she’d said, “But only if you don’t bother me. I have to concentrate on this.”

He’d let out a huff—she was calling the _prince of all saiyans_ , a bother? Anyone else would have been blasted into the next dimension, but she’d turned away instead, completely trusting in him.

Trusting that he would never harm her.

It had been _that_ realization alone that had stayed his automatic response. He’d said nothing and merely sat down on one of her sofas. It was important that he spent time here, at least occasionally. Her human nose did not pick up the changes in the scents surrounding her, but others would—others would know that she had a male who kept careful watch over her. He’d touched a few things here or there, making sure to keep his movements subtle so as not to draw her attention.

Casual relationship or not, any saiyan who walked in here would know she was unavailable.

The woman was standing before a large screen, her hands moving over a schematic and her stylus writing in notes here or there as they finalized their designs before moving into prototyping. She’d told him just last night that the first prototype would go into production in nine days and be ready for unveiling six weeks after.

There was an undertone to her information—she’d wanted to know if he would attend the first unveiling. He hadn’t answered her, but he would be there, of course. As much as he liked it when she yelled out her anger at him, he knew, as a prince, that it was important for him to be there to see the fruits of Capsule Corp.’s contractual labors.

Her back was to him as she looked over the schematics and he couldn’t help the way his eyes moved over her form. She’d taken off her lab coat and only wore a pair of shorts and what he’d come know as a t-shirt.

She was . . . rather undesirable if he were to be honest. She lacked any muscle definition and her skin was terribly pale—no body-hair to speak of, either. The human was far from his usual preference which typically included large muscular bodies that showed a degree of . . . wear. He liked warriors. He liked holding them down and dominating them until they could no longer hold back their moans of pleasure.

The prince also typically bedded males—not for any specific reason, more because they were convenient and there were simply more of them around.

But there was something about her . . . something about the way she held onto him in the throws of sex and the way she talked about her work without any expectation of favor from him. As Turles had so helpfully pointed out, she didn’t care about his title—she was practically royalty on her own planet, anyway.

What he didn’t like . . . what he didn’t like was her insistence that while he could sleep beside her, he had to leave before she awoke in the morning. She never came to his quarters—even when he ordered her to.

If he wanted her, he had to come to her—the problem being that he wanted her nearly every night. Sex had never been of much interest to him before. He’d engage in the activity once or twice a month if a particularly unruly saiyan caught his eye, but he rarely engaged in second encounters much less an . . . an affair.

His scouter beeped threateningly and the prince activated the detection scan.

 _Power level spike_ . . .

His expression flattened as it was identified—as was its destination.

He didn’t have long to wait until the doors to Bulma’s office opened without permission and Trunks stood in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room before they landed on the other prince.

“Trunks!” Bulma said as she whirled around to see who had barged in. “I thought you weren’t coming back for a few days.”

The half-breed had been out of the palace for the last three weeks visiting all of the smaller cities and villages around the planet—a _suggestion_ made by the king . . . at Vegeta’s request.

“We finished early,” Trunks ground out as he took a deep breath, clearly scenting Vegeta all over the office . . . and all over the woman.

“A word . . . _Cousin_?” Trunks said, his eye twitching and nostrils flaring.

The woman picked up on the half-breed’s agitation. “Is something wrong, Trunks?” she asked.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Bulma. Just need to talk to Vegeta real quick.”

He grabbed the dark-haired warrior’s wrist and pulled the other man out of the lab. The prince didn’t put up with it for long, snatching his arm back with a harsh jerk as soon as they exited the Capsule Corp. labs.

The prince let out a snarl. “Don’t think you can push me around, boy, just because you’re a super saiyan!”

“I think I can push you around because you’re deliberately _pissing me off,”_ Trunks ground out.

His smirk was vicious. “What goes on between the woman and I is our business and ours alone.”

The half-breed’s jaw tightened. “She’s my friend and I won’t stand by while you mess around with her for kicks!”

“Ah, you think her a passing fancy,” he said rather flippantly. “Not terribly flattering towards her—”

“I think she was too good for you in my timeline and not much has changed,” Trunks barked out.

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. Trunks might have had some strange sense of familiar affection and loyalty for his father, but clearly the sentient didn’t extend to himself. He thought of rising to the bait—of yelling out his frustration with Trunks getting in his way . . . especially when the half-breed clearly had no clue about the true dynamic between his parents.

“She may be your mother,” he said, his eyes intent and smug, “But you clearly know nothing about her.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Vegeta’s smile was all teeth. “Your mother is smart—perhaps the smartest that weakling planet of hers has to offer. Do you think she refrained from your planet’s birth control carelessly? Do you think she chose to breed with a _saiyan prince_ without thinking it through?” Trunks’ jaw dropped open but nothing came out and the other man chuckled once more before continuing. “Bulma Briefs knows of the power of the saiyans and make no mistake—if she hadn’t wanted the offspring of a saiyan, no one could have forced it upon her. In your timeline, I was the one with nothing, while she was the heir of her family’s business empire. She could have procreated with any number of human males, but she obviously never felt any of them were worthy of her.”

Trunks shook his head. “She’s not like that—”

“She _is_ ,” Vegeta said, his voice low. “She wanted an heir for her family—one with the intelligence of her people and the power of a saiyan.” Trunks’ lips were thinned and the prince watched him. “I do not dispute the . . . feelings that developed between them, but your mother is a very ambitious and calculating woman.”

The half-breed sent him a withering look. “Then why are you doing this with her? If that’s really what you think of her, then why?”

The prince was nonplussed. “You misunderstand me. I do not dislike these qualities—they make her strong . . . she’ll need that if she intends to raise a saiyan prince.”

Trunks swallowed uncomfortably as he looked away. “You’re serious about this,” the half breed murmured. “You’re seriously planning to—to have a kid with her.”

“Should I not?” the prince asked with a raised brow. “You were _her_ heir in another life, but _this_ child will be a king one day.”

Trunks looked back up and met his gaze squarely, his blue eyes sheened with green “If you hurt her . . . I’ll take her back to Earth and you’ll never see her again.”

Vegeta wasn’t partial to threats and he sneered. “As I said before, what goes on between the woman and I is our affair alone. You have nothing to do with it.”

The younger prince’s fists clenched and Vegeta’s scouter once more let out a shrill screech at the power level spike. “Bulma Briefs will never _not_ be my business, Vegeta,” Trunks said, acting more in the role of a jilted lover than a son. “You know where I stand when it comes to her.”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. Ah . . . now he understood. He’d assumed that Trunks’ territorial instincts would subside with Turles’ departure. He’d assumed that his own scent would be close enough to the boy’s father that Trunks would not see him as a threat. He’d miscalculated, apparently, but he would be _damned_ before he’d allow himself to be intimidated by his own progeny.

The prince stood his ground and met those green-blue eyes. “Your threats are meaningless, half-breed. Unless you intend to go in there and confess your true identity . . .” He trailed off, watching with barely restrained glee as Trunks’ lips tightened. “I thought not. Your words are hollow—perhaps a trait you inherited from her. I’ll be sure to work on that with _my_ son,” he said before giving one final parting smirk and walking away.

Trunks didn’t stop him but he could feel the glare of the younger saiyan on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. This chapter didn't exist when I posted the last chapter, but I felt there was too much of a 'jump' between the last chapter and the next so I wrote this one out in order to work a bit with the pacing. Trunks' trip around Vegeta-sei wasn't really planned, but I thought it would be necessary considering what's going on with Bulma and Vegeta. They need a little space to work on their relationship without Trunks breathing down their necks. 
> 
> I typically like to post on Sundays but I finally got this done so I wanted to get it posted ASAP. Next update will include a full chapter and a shorter interlude that unfortunately doesn't really fit in the chapter before or after it. There are a few interlude sprinkled through this story, but I like to post the with another chapter because they're usually so short compared to my full chapters.
> 
> Comment if you caught the reference to Bardock and King Vegeta's side story. ;P


	32. Chapter 32

Raditz kept his senses alert as he looked around the landing pad. He was there accompanying Trunks and Bulma to greet Kakarot and his son. Raditz didn’t worry for himself but for the pale-haired pair that stood conversing beside him. Saiyans of varying size and rank walked by them, many shooting the human and half-breed furtive looks. 

Few dared to approach, however, as they recognized Trunks. The savior’s exotic looks and regal bearing in his royal uniform presented an interesting dichotomy to the rather homogeneous saiyan society.

But while they did not approach, Raditz caught the tail end of more than one sneer at the prince’s heritage. The human, Bulma could not hear the whispered comments, but Raditz was nearly certain that Trunks did.

His lover let nothing show on his face, and so Raditz let it go, as well.

The guardsman was once more looking over the landing schedule when his scouter went off.

He pressed the comm button. “This is Captain Raditz,” he said in answer.

“Captain, the prince is needed back at the palace.”

Raditz looked over towards Trunks. “The prince is currently engaged in another matter. Is this an emergency?” he asked, watching as Trunks and Bulma halted their conversation and looked his way.

“A small group of saiyans broke into the royal training grounds and damaged the fail safes installed on one of the gravity chambers. They went inside and attempted to use the most recent setting—Prince Trunks’ setting.”

Raditz sighed. The tech didn’t need to go any further. “Are they still alive?” he asked after a moment. If they were already dead, then neither Trunks nor Bulma needed to change their immediate plans.

“One of them did not survive, but two of them are still breathing. We can not get the machine off nor turn down the gravity.”

He blinked impassively at the news before looking towards Trunks. “You need to go to the royal training grounds,” he said as he cut the connection.

Bulma blinked. “Is it really bad? Goku’s ship is about to land.”

Raditz hesitated but nodded and explained the situation quickly. The human looked horrified, but Trunks only inclined his head in understanding before turning back to Bulma.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said evenly. “And see you guys back at the palace, okay?”

The woman didn’t look happy but she squeezed his arm in understanding. “Of course. See you in a bit, Trunks.”

He watched as the prince took off into the air leaving he and Bulma standing there. 

“That shouldn’t have happened,” she said. “I designed those failsafes to shut the machine down.”

Raditz shrugged indifferently, “Saiyans get things into their head sometimes and barrel into situations they have little understanding of.”

She glared at him. “One of them is  _ dead _ —in  _ my _ gravity room.”

The Red Guard captain was nonchalant. “I believe your species coined the phrase, ‘survival of the fittest.’ We consider deaths such as the one that just happened to be a natural culling. He or she was not smart enough or strong enough to survive, and so they died.”

The woman shook her head. “It’s such a waste. All life has value.”

Raditz raised a brow.  _ What a naive thing to say _ . . . but then her species was so weak that they’d probably all have died out long ago if they didn’t perpetuate such soft notions.

“As you say,” he murmured rather than argue with her about it.

“Landing pad eighteen. Clear all personnel. Ship arrival imminent.”

The sentients working the port moved quickly to direct the small transport ship that swooped down from the sky and into the hangar. It hit the ground with a heavy thud and steam billowed out from around the thrusters as they waited for the door to open.

A few minutes passed, but eventually the ramp began to swing down from the side and the first one out was Gohan—or at least he attempted to be the first one.

The boy came spilling out, only to fall flat on his face in the gravity of the planet. Bulma ran over to him in fright.

“Gohan!” she called as she came to his side.

“Is that a saiyan child?” someone asked and Raditz looked over to find an elite standing to the side, a look of pure disgust on his face. “Why is it on the ground?”

Before Raditz could respond, Bulma looked up, having heard the comment. “He wasn’t born here. He just needs to time to get used to the gravity.”

The saiyan blinked in confusion. “How could he not be born here? All saiyans are born on Vegeta-sei.”

The woman shook her head. “He’s half-saiyan,” she said and Raditz felt his eye twitch. This . . . this wouldn’t be good.

“Ah!” the elite said with a satisfied nod. “No wonder. It is a weak hybrid,” he said as his hand came up to point towards the pair. “Get out of the way, woman. I have no issue with you.”

Bulma scrambled even further in front of the boy. “What? No!” she said loudly and Raditz was about to step in when Kakarot finally emerged from the transport carrying a large stack of suitcases.

The guardsmen had a split second to think this over before he stepped back. Kakarot’s spawn was his responsibility. No saiyan would stomach another man defending his family.

He allowed only the slightest of smirks to form as Kakarot eyed the situation. “What exactly is the problem?” he asked.

The elite looked up, his scouter flickering before reading a power level of a few hundred. “You are this half-breed’s sire?”

“He’s my son, yes.”

“You’ve made a mistake bringing your weak mixed spawn to this planet, third-class.”

Raditz felt his lips thin. “Prince Trunks’ is a half-breed, as well, you moron!” he called out.

The elite raised his hand again, pointing towards Bulma and the boy. “One anomaly doesn’t make the rule,” the man hissed out nastily. “Half-breeds are a disgrace to our race. It clearly can’t survive here. It is a mercy to put out of its misery.”

Just as the charge began to form in the elite’s palm, a form appeared before the man. Kakarot’s fingers were curled around the saiyan’s wrist and the man’s smirk dropped ever so slightly at the sight of Kakarot’s sneer.

“What do you think you’re doing?” his brother asked, his tone more serious than Raditz had ever heard it.

The saiyan’s scouter beeped again and Raditz could see it reading a power level only slightly higher than the average third-class. The saiyan attempted to pull his wrist away, but the grip only tightened.

Still he snarled out, “Let go of me, you third-class scum!”

By now dozens of saiyans had stopped to take in the brewing fight. Most laughed about the elite-class that was being stared down by such a weak third-class.

“I  _ said _ , that’s my son,” Kakarot repeated.

The elite’s eyes were twitching in fury. “Well, then you can die with him!”

The saiyan shot an energy beam using his other hand, but Goku flicked it away as though it was an insect. The saiyan’s eyes were wide and he attempted to step back, but his wrist was still held tight.

“Apologize,” Kakarot said calmly.

The elite blinked in stunned confusion. “What?”

“Apologize for attacking my son.”

The shock of the order wore off quickly and the snarl returned. “I will do no such thing! He and you are traitors to our race!”

Kakarot’s grip tightened even further and the saiyan screamed in pain, falling to his knees. Meanwhile, his brother’s power reading hadn’t even spiked on the scouter.

“Hey!” another saiyan yelled as he came up behind Kakarot and attempted to strike him. His brother released the first saiyan and smoothly jumped into the air over the second. The man’s unconnected punch left him staggering.

Kakarot moved back towards his son and crouched down in front of the boy. “Hey buddy, you okay?”

By now, the half-saiyan had hauled himself up to his knees and he was working on getting to his feet. “Yeah, dad. I’m fine,” he said.

Kakarot grabbed ahold of Bulma and moved her quickly to Raditz’s side. “Take care of her.”

“What about Gohan?” she asked, her eyes wide.

His brother’s gaze slid towards the boy. “He’ll be be okay,” her friend said before turning back to the other saiyans.

The pair of saiyans watched them, sneering. “Soft-headed race-traitors,” the second one said loudly. Others stepped forward and Raditz watched as his brother’s head tilted this way and that in confusion.

He turned to Raditz. “Are they really wanting to fight me?” he asked.

The guardsman crossed his arms impatiently. “They want to  _ kill _ you Kakarot—you and your brat.”

His brother frowned, a look of dawning understanding passing over his features. “You knew something like this could happen.”

Raditz inclined his head and eyed the younger saiyan intently. “Just as I know you will take care of it.”

Kakarot looked at his son one more time before facing the others again. “Those of you who don’t wish to die, turn around and walk away. It doesn’t have to end badly for you.”

The pair laughed as they once more scanned him. “The only ones dying today are you and your filthy brat.”

Kakarot sighed but stepped forward. Raditz remembered the happy carefree man of Earth, but he also remembered the violent borderline bloodthirsty warrior that had killed dozens of saiyans to protect his planet already.

These fools would be lucky if they were merely mashed into paste.

“Is Goku  _ really _ going to kill them?” Bulma asked, aghast.

Raditz didn’t take his eyes off the developing fight. “He has to. They’ve dishonored him and his family. They came for blood from his son, unprovoked, and if he doesn’t respond then no one here will respect him.”

“But how would he know that?” she asked, her voice edging into something like panic. “He was raised on  _ Earth _ .”

“It’s instinct,” he said as he watched his brother size up his opponents. “We’re a very proud race. Honor and Blood are what define us.”

As Kakarot's expression bled from the facade of oblivious innocence into something more closely resembling a true saiyan, Raditz felt a knot within himself begin to relax. He hadn’t realized it, but there had been this tension stretching his nerves thin. He’d had faith in Kakarot’s saiyan heritage, but he’d not known the true extent of the damage done by that head injury of his. But now to witness his little brother about to obliterate a bunch of overbearing noble elites . . . Kakarot would thrive here on Vegeta-sei and Raditz had never felt more proud of anything in his life.

The fight was short, by most standards, but no less bloody and catastrophic. Kakarot never even bothered to power up, but he easily dismantled his enemies. One by one they fell to ground in lifeless heaps, blood pooling and spreading along the floor of the landing pad.

Most people had their eyes on the fight, but Raditz was trained as a guard and so he was constantly aware of his surroundings. And so he was aware of the man that was edging ever closer to Gohan.

The boy had finally pushed himself to his feet and he was currently practicing taking a few steps in the heavy gravity. Raditz pursed his lips, about to step in, but the boy looked up at him, shaking his head.

The saiyan got close enough to raise his arm and he sent a blast at Gohan. The boy stood there unmoving as it exploded around him.

Kakarot’s eyes widened as he whirled around. “Gohan!” he called, sending a final blast towards the last of the enemy saiyans.

The smoke cleared and, as Raditz suspected, the boy still stood there. His clothing was marred and burned, but his skin was unmarked. The saiyan's smirk fell, even before Gohan raised a hand and sent a massive blast that disintegrated the man as well as half of the building behind him.

Kakarot landed.

“Goku, you just . . . And Gohan . . .” Bulma began with a stutter.

Behind his brother were over a dozen dead saiyans. The rest stood far back from the fight—fear, envy, and respect playing in sequence on many features.

“Good show, Brother!” Raditz said, leaving Bulma’s side to greet Kakarot.

His brother’s lips were thin. “I really didn’t want to do that,” Kakarot said, his voice tinged with regret.

Raditz shrugged. “You had to. If you didn’t, they wouldn’t have stopped,” he said as he watched Gohan slowly make his way over to them, his steps hesitant as he looked up at Raditz. “Ah, nephew. I can see your father didn’t go easy on your training.”

The child nodded. “He said I’d need to be strong on Vegeta-sai.”

“He was right,” Raditz said in agreement. “Anyway, we’re expected back at the Palace. There is a shuttle waiting outside.”

Bulma looked back at the pile of corpses. “What about that?”

“Ah don’t worry,” he said as he turned away. “Someone will clean it up.”

Kakarot and Gohan were already moving to follow hi while the woman stood there in shock. “But—But those were people!” she squawked out.

The guardsman raised an unimpressed brow. “And their families will bury them with as little honor as they elicited in life.”

_ “What?” _ she screeched, even as Raditz pulled her along with them.

“They attacked a superior fighter and they were killed,” he said in explanation. “It happens . . . a lot.”

Her jaw continued to hang down even after he shoved her in the back of the vehicle. Kakarot sat beside her while Raditz sat facing them with Gohan pressed against the glass beside him. The boy was looking at everything through the window, while the rest of them were silent.

Bulma carried a lost expression that spoke of a woman whose world had been upturned. Kakarot was watching his son at first but a sharp inhale eventually caused his attention to divert.

“You smell like Trunks,” he said, his gazing moving over the Red Guard captain’s form.

“I should hope so,” Raditz said with a self-satisfied smile. 

“I know you tried something with him back on Earth . . .”

“And I succeeded,” he said smugly. “It was only after he got here that he realized that he no longer had any cause to hide—that there’s no shame in taking a lover.”

Kakarot looked away uncomfortably for a moment, before his gaze swung back. “Are you going back with him to Earth?”

Raditz felt his eyes narrow as he surveyed his brother. “Are you?”

The younger saiyan crossed his arms. “Well the first impression hasn’t exactly been the greatest—”

Raditz waved him off. “Do not let a few low-rent saiyans color your opinion of our people. They respect power. You have that, you just needed to prove it.”

His brother shook his head. “But those that can’t—the ones that can’t defend themselves. Where does that leave them?”

He was silent for a few seconds as he rolled the question around in his mind. “The universe isn’t a fair or safe place, Kakarot, but it’s been made safer than what would have happened under a different Tyrant.”

“Frieza.”

Raditz nodded. “Yes. He and his Arcosian Empire were slowly driving this galaxy into extinction. He planned to eliminate anyone who could be a threat—and that included everyone. The Saiyan Empire is perhaps not the nicest place, but at least its citizens are alive.”

Kakarot made a noncommittal sound before speaking again. “So Trunks is a Prince?”

“He is the son of our king’s younger brother.” Kakarot blinked a few time before nodding, his expression pensive. Raditz watched him for a moment before continuing. “Anyway, he is taking care of a small crisis back at the palace but I’m sure he will join us in an hour or two. Did you bring anything appropriate for an audience with the King?”

Gohan looked away from the window, speaking up for the first time since they’d departed. “The king? Why would we meet him?”

Raditz turned his attention to the boy. “Your father will be working with Prince Vegeta as a sparring partner and also . . . He and our father . . . they work closely together.”

“I thought Grandpa didn’t work for the government anymore.”

_ Grandpa? _ He thought in amusement before answering, “He left his position as head of the science division, however, he now does liaison work between Capsule Corp. and the royal family . . . He reports directly to the king.”

“That’s um . . . neat,” Kakarot said in response.

_ The Great Ancestor save him from oblivious brothers, _ he thought just as the transport pulled up in front of the palace.

Gohan bounded out of the ship, looking up at the glittering spires of the imperial palace in awe. Raditz had seen the greatest that Earth had to offer in terms of architecture, and while most of it was quite impressive, none could hold a candle to the city-sized complex that made up the palace grounds.

The saiyan empire was the largest and strongest in the galaxy and the king had consolidated all of that power here . . . and it showed.

“This is your heritage, boy,” Raditz said proudly.

Gohan looked back at him. “I read up on saiyan history on the way here . . . this isn’t my heritage . . . not really.”

The guardsmen felt his face flatten. “You are from a powerful bloodline—”

“A  _ third-class _ bloodline,” the child said. “And third-classes . . . they’re the lowest caste of saiyan.”

Raditz felt the skin beneath his eye  _ twitch _ . He wasn’t a third-class—hadn’t been for decades and neither was his father or Kakarot. This boy, as well, was far from a third-class power level.

“Saiyans live by their own strength. Those that have it . . . belong here,” he said, gesturing towards the massive gates.

“But it’s not the only way to enter,” a familiar voice intoned from behind them. “After all, power is useless if you don’t have the knowledge to wield it.”

Raditz turned around to face the newcomer and spotted Trunks followed by Bardock. Those had been Bardock’s words and Raditz felt his lips twist as his father came closer to the boy. The older saiyan had, thankfully, forgone the billowy tech outfit that he occasionally sported, and instead he cut a neat and regal figure in a dark paneled bodysuit. His tail, as usual, swung loosely around his legs as he walked.  

Bardock came to halt in front of the boy. “Advancement in this society isn’t all about strength.”

Gohan looked up at the newcomer. “You . . . You’re my grandpa? Bardock?”

“I am.”

“I . . . I read about you too.”

“All lies,” the saiyan said knowingly before he knelt down to eye-level in front of the child. “We are more than the power we are born with. I did not come to this place as anything but a penniless third-class.”

The child grimaced. “But most third-classes . . . they aren’t like you.”

Bardock inclined his head in agreement. “No, but that is a choice we all make. I chose to invest my time in training my mind rather than my body and I hear that your mother would like the same for you.” Raditz was ready to protest such an arrangement but his father quickly continued. “But I think it’s not too much trouble to have both, yes?”

“I . . . I want to be smart like you, but I want to be strong like my dad too.”

“A worthy ambition,” Bardock said as he stood back up and faced his sons. “Kakarot,” he added as he looked over his youngest son. They really were cut from the same cloth. They both possessed the classic saiyan build and coloring, but their features were still nearly identical. Perhaps there was a softness about Kakarot that wasn’t present on Bardock, but that was only when his brother wasn’t engaged in battle. “I am glad you finally made it home, son.”

The younger saiyan seemed almost uncomfortable to be faced with his own father. “Earth is my home.”

If Bardock was offended by the sentiment, he didn’t show it.  “Earth is where you were reared, but Vegeta-sei will always be your home.”

Kakarot looked ready to say something again, but Gohan finally seemed to catch sight of Trunks and ran up to the other half-breed.

“Uncle Trunks! I finally got to visit you!”

“Yeah, you did, little man!” he said with a smile before looking back up at Kakarot. “How did you convince Chichi to let you guys come all the way out here?”

“With the way the Earth is moving towards expansion into space, interaction with aliens will be a good learning experience,” he said, clearly parroting some line that had been fed to him by another. “Raditz also assured her that he would be tutored by a royal instructor or something.”

“I see,” Trunks said with a raised brow as he turned a suspicious look towards Raditz.

Silence followed until Bardock turned back to his youngest. “I do hope that nastiness on the landing pad won’t discourage you from remaining here.”

Raditz raised a brow at the statement.  _ Of course _ Bardock already knew what had happened, but Trunks looked over. “What nastiness?”

Kakarot shrugged. “Had to take care of some mean people.”

The half-breed tilted his head but no one else said anything so he let it go. “Why don’t I show you all to your rooms and the training grounds.”

“Oh yeah!” Kakarot said in excitement as Trunks led them away.

Raditz needed to return to his duties but he turned to his father. “You knew that shit was going to go down,” he said, keeping his voice low.

Bardock blinked impassively. “Of course, I did. I told the king it would be a bloodbath months ago.”

Well, if the king had decided to let it happen anyway, then there wasn’t much to be done about it. “Will his majesty be joining us at dinner tonight?” he asked instead.

Bardock gave him a sharp look. “It’s a family affair—”

He let out a snort of a laugh. “You’ve been bedding the man for twenty years—”

“Shut your fool mouth, brat!” Bardock hissed out, his face flushing.

Raditz all but rolled his eyes. “You make not only yourself miserable, but him as well. The savior is here—my brother is here. There are no more secrets left for you to hide. Get the re-test and quit being so stubborn!” 

With that, the warrior walked off, leaving his stunned father in his wake. 

  
  
  


Vegeta made his way towards the woman’s labs, irritated that as usual, it was him that came to her, rather than the other way around. He was a prince— _ the _ prince—and he’d  _ told _ her to come to his chambers this evening. Her shift in the lab ended more than an hour ago and yet she was still in the science building. The scouter also showed Trunks to be there along with Bardock and two unidentified low power levels. 

_ So that’s where the half-breed was hiding. _

He entered the building and at first, headed for the woman’s office, but the scouter beeped and he realized they weren't in the labs but rather in the cafeteria.

_ What the fuck? _

He had gourmet cuisine waiting back in his wing and she was in the fucking science building  _ cafeteria? _ The prince moved swiftly down the hall, uncaring of what he must look like as he arrived to the large room. It was mostly empty, with the vast majority of the personnel having left for the day, so it was easy to spot the small group.

Even easier to spot Bulma in the arms of another man. Vegeta let out a feral growl as he moved forward. The man looked up and the prince velt a vein in his forehead begin to throb.

“I thought we had an understanding, Lord Turles,” he said before he completely thought his words through.

The man blinked in confusion before looking towards Trunks. “Who’s Lord Turle—”

Bardock stepped between them. “My Prince, this is my son, Kakarot. I am told that you met briefly back on Earth.”

Vegeta moved his gaze back to the man—he was indeed wearing that same garish clothing from before and the friendlier expression was far more at home on Kakarot’s face than Turles’.

“My . .  mistake,” he said slowly as he looked at the family. 

Raditz seemed to be the odd man out. It was rather disconcerting that Bardock, Kakarot, and Turles were all virtually identical—physically anyway. He saw Kakarot’s nostrils flare as a scent caught his attention. He looked down at Bulma in confusion before looking back up at Vegeta.

The man still hadn’t released his hold on the prince’s woman and it took everything within him not to launch himself at the other saiyan. Vegeta knew very little of the youngest son of Bardock—only the few passing remarks made by Raditz these last few months. The red guard captain had never seemed overly impressed with Kakarot’s intelligence, but he’d said nothing of Kakarot’s power.

Which meant that the younger saiyan was no slouch. 

And judging by the furrowed brow as he looked from Bulma towards the prince, Vegeta could see that while Kakarot might be a moron, his senses were as acute as any other saiyan’s.

The prince watched as that concerned gaze swung to Trunks, though the half-breed was engaged in a discussion with Bardock and paid little attention to the strange emotions swirling behind his friend’s eyes.

“Goku, you can let go, now,” Bulma said suddenly and Kakarot abruptly released his hold on her.

“Sorry, Bulma—lost in my own little world for a moment there,” the other man said carelessly.

“Prince Vegeta, is there something I can help you with?” she asked formally.

It was strange considering that most of the people there could clearly tell that they’d been intimate recently. She reeked of his musk—he’d made sure of it. 

“Did we not have an appointment this evening, woman?” he asked, the look on his face, smug.

She blinked in confusion before understanding dawned on her. “Oh! The—the training droids. I must have forgotten.” She turned to her companions. “Sorry I won’t be able to do dinner tonight. Raincheck?”

“Um . . . sure, Bulma,” Kakarot began weakly, but the prince was already by the woman's side, guiding her away.

Once they’d made it to the hallway he turned to her. “You were supposed to come to my chambers this evening.”

“I told you Goku was coming today—”

“That is hardly important enough to warrant standing me up,” he said snippily.

Exasperation rolled off her. “For the love of god, Vegeta, my life doesn’t revolve around you,” she said before leaning in and lowering her voice. “We’re just having sex.”

His lips thinned, and he said nothing else as they walked. They kept a respectable distance from one another until they entered his chambers. He could see the surprise on her face as she caught sight of the table covered with food . . . and two place settings.

“You . . . you wanted to have dinner?” she asked, blinking in confusion.

He crossed his arms sulkily. “The thought  _ had _ crossed my mind, but if all you want to do is have sex—”

“No, this is fine. It’s . . . It’s lovely.”

She looked stunned by the gesture—a small thing, he assumed, but something that none-the-less seemed to please her. The woman seated herself and he sat across from her, eating heartily while she ate at a slower pace. She smiled occasionally as she watched him consume most everything on the table. 

“How  _ are _ those training droids coming along?” he asked suddenly.

She nearly dropped her fork. “Oh! Quite well, actually. They will be ready on time.”

“Not earlier?” he asked with a raised brow. “I thought you were the smartest woman in the galaxy.”

The woman shot him a withering look. “You’re droids aren’t the only thing we make in my labs, you know,” she said. “Your father has my team running ragged with all the modifications he wants made the fleet.

Vegeta put down the last bone of the animal he’d inhaled. “Ragged, huh?” he asked as he wiped his mouth and got up. “You seemed quite energetic with Kakarot,” he added as he came around the table to face her.

“He’s . . . he’s my friend,” she said, confusion coloring her tone.

“And what am I compared to that?”

Bulma gave him a long look. “You’re my . . . My lover.”

“Exactly,” he said as he reached out a ran a gloved finger down the side of her face. “And what do lovers do for one another?”

As he asked, his finger moved over her lips and pushed into her mouth. She looked up at him with those large blue human eyes and but didn’t bite him or try to push him away, her tongue moved over the material of the glove and he felt the minuscule pressure of the suction through the cloth.

“Will you do something for me?” he asked.

She nodded and reached out tiny slender fingers towards his overcoat. She quickly pulled it open and loosened the suit beneath, the front falling to the side and he was bared to the room—to her gaze. He moved forward, her knees falling to the floor and he took his fingers out of her mouth as his erection slide over the smooth soft skin of her cheek.

Her lips gave the head the barest of touches as she ran them lightly over the sensitive skin. He watched her closely as she ghosted soft kisses up and down the length of him before finally engulfing him in the warm wetness of her mouth.

His breathing was shuddering as she moved up and down his shaft, taking more and more of him down her throat with every pass. Her hand moved from his hips to work him at the root and increase the stimulation.

“Great Ancestor,” he breathed, his hand coming up to sink into her pale blue tresses.

He needed to stop or this would be a short session. The prince pulled away from her, and her mouth was left hanging open, a strand of saliva still connecting her tongue and his cock.

“Vegeta?” she asked, a note of raspiness from her throat being used.

He swallowed harshly before reaching down and picking her up. She was thrown somewhat roughly over his shoulder, but she didn’t seem to mind if her laughs were anything to go by.

The prince entered his bedchamber and threw her down onto the bed. She landed with a bounce and watched him for only a few seconds before she began pulling her clothing off frantically. He did the same, jumping from foot to foot as he yanked his boots off.

By the time he looked back up she was completely naked, her legs splayed open invitation and clear fluid making her nether regions slick and juicy.

He wanted a bite.

Vegeta knew what she was expecting—that he was going to pull her forward and shove himself inside, but while he did pull her forward, he also moved lower and put her knees over his shoulders.

“Vegeta, what . . .” she began just as he mouth settled over her clit. “Oh god!” she said as her head fell back.

He’d never engaged in oral sex with a woman until Bulma, but the more he did it, the more he realized that he wanted to do this to her . . . over and over again. The scent of her, the sounds she made, the way her body undulated and her knees locked around his head. 

His hand was splayed out over her soft belly and he could feel the ripples in the muscles beneath as her body edged closer and closer to orgasm.

“Vegeta, I’m going to . . .” 

He sucked harder and her back arched from the bed as she all but shoved her nether regions even more tightly against his mouth. She was trembling as he pulled his mouth away and he looked down at the mess of her and knew his face must have been equally sordid.

She was breathing heavily against the bedding and he reached up and ran his fingers over the dampness around his mouth and jaw before sticking his fingers into his mouth.

“Bring up your ki, woman,” he said.

She blinked at him. “What?”

“There will be no gentleness tonight. Unless you want to be confined to my bed tomorrow because you can’t walk . . . I suggest you power up as much as you can.”

Her eyes were wide as she looked from his face back down to the his angry red erection.

She nodded and her eyes fell shut as she gathered her energy. It wasn’t much, but a small aura formed as she drew her ki close to her, protecting her.

“Time to take the true power of a saiyan,” he said, a touch dramatically.

He could see from the way her lips curled in that she wanted to laugh, but she kept that to herself and then there was no laughing at all as he slid inside her with one fast push

“Oh!” she yelped as her hands clutched his biceps.

“You ready, woman?”

She bit her lip before replying. “Always.”

He knew his canines were on full display as he smirked down at her and began moving with powerful strokes. Her eyes were wide as she moved her arms over him and the mattress, looking for purchase to keep her anchored. His thrusts were unhurried but powerful, each one drawing a loud moan from the woman.

The prince let some of his ki unfurl and surround them, his lips coming down to kiss her as her arms came around his back and she held him close. He felt her nails digging into his back as he got his knees more firmly placed and began moving again.

“Why does it feel so good?” she whispered into his ear.

“Because you’re with me.”

It was a cliche thing to say, but it was the truth and she didn’t refute him.

“Are you with  _ me?” _ she asked instead.

“Always,” he said, echoing her own sentiment.

She held him even tighter as he buried his face in her neck, scenting marking her so no one would mistake his claim on her.

He continued on even as she orgasmed a second time and by the time he finally came, she was a boneless shuddering mass beneath him. He emptied himself within her and stayed there for a while before pulling away.

She drew her sore legs together and turned onto her side. He sat beside her, looking over her somewhat battered body. Even with her increase in ki, she was still so much weaker than him. Training was not important to her, but perhaps he should insist that she work on it anyway.

When he became a super saiyan, it would only be that much harder for her.

He snorted softly at the thought, drawing her attention.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked in a tired whisper.

He raised a brow but didn’t voice his true thoughts. Instead he reached out and poked at her tender nether regions. “Are all of your species like this?” he asked.

Her brow furrowed. “Like what?”

He ran a finger down the smooth skin of her mound. “Hairless.”

He could see the bafflement in her face. “Oh! Um. No, we have hair down there. I mean . . . I wax so . . .”

“Wax?” he asked, unsure of the term itself but able to pick up on the ramifications. “You remove the hair?”

She shrugged. “It’s more hygienic, you know?”

_ Hygienic? _ he thought.  _ What a human thing to worry about. _ “It will grow back?” he asked, instead.

Bulma’s lips pursed. “Eventually.”

The prince nodded in understanding. “Do not . . . wax it again.”

At that, the exhaustion of their earlier escapades seemed to drain away. “What?” she asked with strange look on on her face. “You . . .  you want me to grow my—my— _ why?” _

Vegeta shrugged. “We are a hairy species. It . . . appeals to me.” He also wished to bury his mouth and nose into coarse blue curls and not into smooth flaps of skin.

The woman’s mouth opened and closed a few times and her brow furrowed as she rolled his statement around in her mind. “Would you stop sleeping with me if I told you I  _ didn’t _ want to grow it back?”

“Of course not!” he barked out. “If I wasn’t put off with your ugliness already, you lack of natural body hair wasn’t going to do it.”

She looked at him for a second before snorting out a laugh. “Okay,” she said. “I won’t wax anymore.”

The prince nodded with a pleased smirk. “Now, we just need to get some muscle onto you so you won’t be such a skinny twig,” he said.

“Hey!”


	33. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted this interlude and a chapter so if you got notification and accidentally skipped the previous chapter, please go back to chapter 32. :)

Goku looked over the quarters that had been set aside for his family. His gaze eventually moved down at his hands. There was a small bit of blood that still clung to his knuckles from where he’d landed a blow on one of the saiyans from the landing pad.

No one here seemed to care that he’d killed those men. 

“Dad, this place is  _ huge! _ Even bigger than our house back home!” Gohan called from his new bedroom. 

As Goku entered the bedroom he’d eventually share with Chichi, he noticed that all their things had been stacked neatly to the side of the bed. 

Even with Gohan around, it seemed so . . . empty.

He went to one of the desks and typed in the number Raditz had given him. It took a few tries, but eventually he got it right.

“Goku?”

He let out a sigh. “Chichi, we . . . we’re here.”

Her head tilted, and her face became concerned. “You don’t sound as happy as I thought you would,” she said.

The saiyan swallowed uncomfortably. “I don’t like being here without you.”

His wife gave him a sad smile and nodded, agreeing with him. “I’ll be there in a few months. I promise,” she said quietly, “Have you gotten to spar with anyone, yet?”

He thought of the last few seconds of life those saiyans had experienced in the hangar.

“Haven’t gotten to spar, yet. No.”

Chichi sent him an encouraging look. “Well you’re supposed to be a sparring partner with the prince, right? Where is he?”

Goku swallowed as he felt the fluctuating power levels of two people a few floors above him in another wing. “He’s busy right now.”

Chichi didn’t give up. “Raditz said that you’d be able to use the training grounds in the palace. Why don’t you go there and see if anyone there wants to fight you?”

He bit his lip before nodding. “That’s . . . that’s a good idea, Chichi.”

She gave him a beautiful smile. “Well go on, then. It’s not like you to hold up in the house when there's a whole world out there for you to explore.”

He nodded, his eyes mapping her face. “I love you, Chichi.”

“I love you too, Goku.”

The connection was cut and he was about to turn and leave when he spotted the open closet door. Something caught his attention and he moved closer, pulling the door fully open to peer inside.

Rows of uniforms nearly identical to Raditz’s hung neatly in front of him. He swallowed as he reached out and touched the fabric. His father had said that he should get in the habit of wearing the uniform quickly so that the other guards around the palace would become used to his presence. His uniform was a form of identification that would grant him access to various areas.

But he wasn’t on the job quite yet.

Goku stepped out of the bedroom and went down the hall towards Gohan’s room—only to find the kid completely passed out on the bed.

The saiyan watched his son for a minute before backing away and shutting the door. He quickly scribbled a note just in case Gohan woke up while he was gone and then stepped out of the room. Unlike his apartment, the hallways were bright with shades of gold, blue, and pale salmon with geometric lines running the length.

He began making his way through the winding corridors, a few guards eyeing him but none said anything.

He kept his senses alert and felt around for the largest cluster of high power levels. It wasn’t long before he found the training grounds. Despite the late hour, there were dozens of elite saiyans training and sparring with one another.

Many of them paused their movements as they caught sight of him.

Goku had never been one to feel any kind of embarrassment or shame, but the way the saiyans eyed him—skepticism mixed with wariness and a healthy dose of fear.

“I’m looking for a sparring partner,” he said aloud.

“You are Kakarot, son of Bardock, yes?” someone asked.

Goku looked over and spotted a saiyan with a more slender build. He was tall, with long dark spikes that swept back from his face except for a single twist of bangs to one side.

“That’s what people around here call me,” Goku said in answer.

The saiyan’s eyes swept over him appraisingly. “I am Shallot of House Saledey.”

“Oh,” Goku said. “It’s um . . . good to meet you.”

Shallot raised a brow before reaching up and pressing a few buttons on his scouter. The thing beeped a few times and Shallot seemed confused.

“Your power level isn’t nearly high enough to have killed Enion and Corinin. Are you able to suppress your power like Prince Trunks?”

“Um. Yeah. Sorry about uh . . . them,” he said uncomfortably.

Shallot shrugged. “They challenged a fighter superior to themselves and were too stupid to give up when offered mercy. They received the end they earned.”

“Right,” Goku said awkwardly as the saiyan continued to almost examine him. “So . . . sparring?”

The noble’s head tilted as he smiled. “Yes, yes of course . . . a spar. The loser, will, of course treat the winner to meal afterwards.”

“Oh!” Goku said with a blink. “Well, I don’t really have any money yet.”

“You think you will lose?” Shallot asked with a strange smile.

His lips pursed. “Well, no.”

“Then ease your mind . . . Come, fight me.”

Goku stretched a bit and Shallot did the same. He couldn’t help but admire the lines of the other saiyan’s body. He was not nearly as thickly muscled as Goku or many of the other saiyans present, but there was a strength to the ease and grace of his movements as if every shift of his body was a perfectly planned and executed display of his control.

He and Shallot made their way over to an unused sparring space and he immediately dropped down into a fighting stance. Shallot did the same, his body seeming to float into a pose unlike any Goku had seen before. 

He waited but Shallot didn’t appear to want to make the first move so Goku took off, flying towards the other saiyan, his fist outstretched and ready to make contact.

“I give up,” the words were whispered but Goku heard them all the same and his fist halted mere inches from Shallot’s face.

“You—you what?” Goku asked dumbly.

The saiyan moved his head so he could peer around the outstretched fist. “I said I give up. Clearly you are far stronger than I, and the only thing I will be receiving from this fight is a day in the regen tank.”

“But you . . .” Goku began in confusion as his fist fell and the other saiyan straightened back up.

“Still—a deal is a deal, my friend,” Shallot said easily.

“Deal?”

Shallot moved closer. “To a meal, of course. You must be famished and my quarters aren't far from here.”

There was something rather predatory about the way Shallot spoke, his smile just a bit too friendly and out of place for a saiyan.

“Uhhh.”

“That won’t be necessary,” someone called. Goku looked away from Shallot and blinked dumbfounded as Prince Vegeta approached them.

“My prince,” Shallot said as he gave a bow in deference.

Goku did none of this but instead stood still as the shorter saiyan came to stand beside them.

Vegeta looked bored. “Kakarot does not have time for your games, Shallot.”

“My apologies Prince Vegeta,” the other saiyan said as he stepped away.

Goku watched as the prince began walking away. Vegeta walked with a stride that spoke of power and strength—that is until he halted and turned around.

“Well, aren’t you coming?” he asked snidely. Goku nodded quickly and took off after the other man. “Next time I see you, you had better be out of that garish thing and into your palace uniform.”

Goku’s lips twisted into a grimace. “That stuff is ya know . . . kinda tight, isn’t it?”

“Trunks got used to it and so will you.”

The earth saiyan sighed but said nothing until a thought surfaced in his mind. “Where’s Bulma?”

“Asleep,” Vegeta said casually and with a certainty that was impossible to ignore.

“What exactly are you doing with her?”

At this, the prince came to a stop and turned to face him. “I think it’s more than obvious what she and I do together.”

Goku swallowed uncomfortably. “So, you know about Trunks . . .”

“Of  _ course _ I do,” the prince snapped out.

He met the prince’s gaze. “But Bulma doesn't.”

Vegeta’s eye twitched. “No—and it needs to  _ stay _ that way. The woman has enough to deal with without worrying over things that may never even come to pass.”

“So you you  _ aren’t _ with her because of Trunks?” Goku asked suspiciously.

The prince snorted. “What is between the woman and I is none of your concern. Should a child be born, it will be entirely our business.”

Goku grimaced. “She’s my friend—my oldest friend. She’s . . . been hurt enough.”

The shorter saiyan was watching him, something malicious in his gaze. “And if I  _ do _ hurt her, what will you do about it, third-class?”

His expression suddenly flattened. “Doing something stupid like that,” Goku began. “It isn’t in your best interest.”

Vegeta stepped closer, something bloodthirsty in his gaze. “Will you  _ kill _ me like you did those saiyans on the landing pad?”

Goku took a steadying breath as he looked away.“They didn’t give me any choice. I do what I have to do to protect the people I love.”

“Love . . .” Vegeta echoed with a growl. “Love is a crutch for those too weak to hold onto what they want.”

He shook his head. “No, Vegeta, love is what makes us able to push past our barriers.”

The prince stepped back again. “Then do so, Kakarot. Show me what love has allowed you to achieve.”

He looked around the empty training arena. “I don’t go that far—not here.”

Vegeta seemed to see the words as an insult. “Then I’ll make you,” the prince roared before launching himself towards the other saiyan.

Goku jumped back, blocking the blow that came flying at him from seemingly every angle.

“Fight back, you third-class clown!” Vegeta howled.

He snorted and allowed his arm to swing out. It connected heavily with the prince’s jaw causing the older saiyan to fly back into the ground.

“I don’t know if you really want me to fight back all that much, Vegeta,” he said with a smug smile.

_ “Prince _ Vegeta!” the other man barked out.

Goku allowed his own smirk to form. “You want to be my Prince—earn the title.”

Vegeta’s lips spread into a wide smile and Goku felt excitement unlike any he’d felt before as the prince came at him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sometimes have to make these little interludes when scenes don't really go with the chapters before or after for whatever reason. They're short so I try to post them with another chapter.


	34. Chapter 34

Goku pulled on the skin-tight uniform as he walked down the hall towards the training grounds. He’d already been living on the planet for more than a month and his routine was, for the most part, unchanging. He accompanied the prince most days for training and on whatever duties he’s been tasked with.

The saiyan didn’t really pay much attention to the prince’s meetings, and sometimes Vegeta was in a good enough mood that he’d let Goku leave early and head for the training grounds. He had one day completely off per week and he usually spent that with Trunks and Gohan training off-planet.

It was . . . tiresome to not be able to train as freely as he had back on Earth, but he had to keep his ability to go super saiyan under wraps—at least for now. Trunks felt comfortable enough with him on the planet that he occasionally ‘disappeared’—of to Room of Spirit and Time to fully release his power.

Vegeta was so close to transforming. He had the power and drive, but so far nothing had really triggered the ascension.

Gohan was with the tutor today, but he expected his son to finish early and head for the training grounds. The boy liked watched the other saiyans train and while he’d been wary of his son being unsupervised, no one had tried anything since the landing pad.

Goku hadn’t bothered with the testing the saiyans seemed so keen on, but Gohan had begged him to let the boy do the testing. All his friends around the palace were the heirs of noble houses and made up of first and elite class saiyans.

Gohan, as both a half-breed and the son of a third-class, was automatically labeled as such. Goku wasn’t sure that he liked the idea of a test that determined if someone was good enough to be friends with, but Chichi had said that she allowed Gohan to train so he’d have the best possible advantage on Vegeta-sei so _of course_ he should take the test to prove that he was as strong as any other child there.

His son . . . his little half-human boy tested into the super-elite classification.

And now Goku was constantly bombarded with requests and invitations from various nobles for Gohan to spend time with their children. Gohan was also far more intelligent than most of the saiyans around but his father had put him into contact with instructors from off-world.

The king insisted on footing the bill to bring these galaxy-known teachers to work with Gohan and that was another thing . . .

_The king._

He’d only met the man once, but Goku still longed to cave his face in. It was unlike him to harbor such . . . violent urges. He remembered their meeting . . . the way the king had stood close and touched his face as though he had the right.

“Fascinating,” the king had murmured as he moved Goku’s face from side to side. “You look so much like him . . . and yet you are _nothing_ like him.”

“What?” Goku had asked and it was then that he smelled it. The scent of his father was all over the king.

“You . . .” he began as an untamed instinct kicked in and his hand balled into a fist, seconds from slamming it into the king’s smug face.

Vegeta snorted derisively. “I went to great lengths to bring you here—to reunite you with your family, but your purpose here is to make my son stronger. Do not forget that.”

He released his hold on the earth saiyan’s jaw and began to walk away. Goku watched him with narrowed eyes and started to move—to go after this man who had touched his father, but Raditz stopped forward and suddenly there was a tight grip on his arm. He looked down at the hand before meeting the eyes of his brother. He knew his agitation was written all over his face and when Raditz shook his head shallowly, it was all Goku could do not to shake the older saiyan off and go after the king anyway.

The king paused but didn’t turn back around. “It seems you need a moment with your brother, captain. I know you weren’t able to spend as much time with him since his arrival so why don’t you take the rest of the day to make sure that Kakarot knows the lay of the land and the _way things work_ around here.”

“Yes, sire,” Raditz said with a bow of his head.

Goku watched the king leave the corridor and abruptly pulled his arm free. “Raditz, why does he smell like our dad?”

His brother made a noise of disgust. “You _know_ why, you fool. They are lovers—have been for decades.”

Goku shook his head. “It’s—It’s not right. He’s not part of our family. How can you stand it?”

Raditz grimaced. “The king is not mated with father, but their relationship is between them and we are not animals controlled by our instincts.”

“He is stronger than dad,” Goku said angrily. “He could be taking advantage.”

The Red Guard captain looked away. “Trust me, father can handle himself—and besides, what are you going to do? Kill the king? Then you’ll need to kill the prince as well . . . and do you know what would happen then?” Goku blinked and Raditz continued. “ _You_ would be king.”

“I don’t want to be king,” Goku said with a shake of his head.

“Then get your shit together and don’t antagonize King Vegeta.” Raditz sighed and leaned in. “You’re a super saiyan, aren’t you? You’re hiding it.”

Goku hesitated before answering. “Trunks said not to transform until Vegeta did—it wouldn’t be good if I did it first.”

“Trunks is correct,” Raditz said in agreement. “Things are unstable enough as it is with Trunks being the only super saiyan and a half-breed at the same time.”

His brother had talked to him at length that day, going over some of what was expected of him as the prince’s companion and guard. So far it seemed easy enough. He and Vegeta fought until one of them was ready to throw the towel in—or needed to be hauled into the regen tank. It was usually the prince that ended up there and Goku wasn’t sure if this was the best route, but the prince didn’t seem to care. He got stronger with every defeat and Goku needed to be just that much stronger every day to to keep up.

He hoped Vegeta was able to transform soon. They were reaching the limit of Goku’s base form power level and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do once Vegeta surpassed him.

 

* * *

 

Raditz could not help the satisfied smirk that graced his features as he watched Kakarot beat the living snot out of the prince. Even with his injuries mounting, there was a sense of delight around the prince. Trunks had once more slithered his way out of training with the other prince. Everyone knew that the half-breed hated fighting Prince Vegeta, but while most believed it was because Trunks looked down on Vegeta for being weaker, the truth was far more pathetic.

Prince Trunks hated to be the one to inflict so much pain and physical injury on Vegeta and so he vanished whenever the other prince was looking for him.

The same could not be said of Kakarot. Raditz’s brother never held back and they fought for hours each day with the prince only rarely coming out on top. But the losses did not deter Vegeta in the slightest. With every defeat at the hands of Kakarot, he would only get stronger.

Gohan walked up beside him and Raditz looked down at the boy. “You’ve finished your lessons, already?”

“It was science today—easy stuff!” Gohan said with a shrug.

Just like Trunks, this half-breed was of far above average intelligence for a Saiyan. These lessons of his were also a testing ground on which the King was currently building his case for a half-breed heir to one day take the throne. Trunks was unusually intelligent, however they’d at first attributed that to his genius mother, but all information about Gohan’s human mother said that she was an average fighter of average human intelligence. Barring the relation to Bardock, Gohan’s own seeming brilliance did not appear to be genetic.

So far, there were only two human-saiyan hybrids in existence and so any similarities could be coincidences, but until more information could be gathered, the king was watching the boy closely.

“I wanna fight too!” Gohan said loudly, drawing his father’s attention.

Kakarot looked over and so he missed Vegeta’s punch. It sent him sailing in the ground and a cloud of debris flew into the air. Vegeta dropped from the air and landed beside the small crater. They could hear Kakarot laughing from there.

“You utter moron!” the prince said loudly, but there was no malice in his words. Kakarot pushed himself to his feet and turned to Vegeta.

“Aw, Vegeta, come on, don’t be like that!” Kakarot whined as he clapped the prince on his shoulder.

 _“Prince_ Vegeta!” the other saiyan barked out.

But Kakarot only laughed and walked towards his son. Raditz could see the prince eyeing Kakarot from behind, his expression considering, before apparently realizing he’d been caught. He glared at Raditz before looking away.

“Hey Raditz! Gohan!” Kakarot said easily as he approached. “You guys here to train, too?”

“No we are simply here to stand and gawk,” Raditz said impatiently.

“I thought so,” Kakarot said with a smile. “You couldn’t take your eyes off us up there.”

Raditz physically willed himself not to blush at the statement, but the prince’s laughter from the other side of the complex let him know that others had heard the crack.

The saiyan elite allowed a smile to spread over his features. “I suppose you’re right,” he said with false levity. “But anyone can see you and the prince are a matched set. The royal family _is_ rather enamored with our bloodline. If Prince Vegeta wasn’t so set on the human female, I would worry for your chastity, dear brother.”

“What’s chastity?” Gohan asked, reminding them all of his presence, even as Raditz heard a distinct growl from the the saiyan prince at his crack.

“Nothing for you to worry about yet, Gohan,” Kakarot said.

“Oh. It’s one of _those_ things,” the boy said knowingly. “The prince seems nice, but I don’t know if mom would be okay with you and him.”

“Oh my fucking god!”

Raditz looked over to see the prince stomping back over to them.

“I am not interested in Kakarot!” he said, red staining his cheeks. “I have a mate already, dammit!”

Raditz blinked at the statement as did the others and he could see that it was finally dawning on the prince exactly what he’d just confessed. Vegeta let out another smothered growl before taking off and flying back towards the palace.

“You really shouldn’t bait him like that, Raditz,” Kakarot said breezily.

The captain raised a brow. “He’s the prince of all saiyans. If he couldn’t take a few words of ribbing, his father would have sent him off planet like Tarble years ago.”

Kakarot blinked. “Who’s Tarble?”

“The older prince. He was naturally born with the former queen, but he was such a disappointment that the queen was deposed and the king instead created a new heir in a lab.”

“Whoa, that’s wild!” his brother said with wide eyes.

Raditz raised a brow. “Kakarot, you and I were both created in labs.”

“Wait. What?” the younger saiyan asked, his face looking as through his entire world had just fallen off its axis. “Are you serious?”

Raditz titled his head before sighing. “You really know nothing of your heritage, do you?”

Kakarot crossed his arms defensively. “I wasn’t exactly up on the saiyan education, no. But we were created in labs? Is that why I don’t see many girls around?”

The Red Guard captain shrugged. “So many third and second class saiyans perish off world in battle that the third classes prefer male children in order to better their chances at survival. Females are not much weaker than males, but there is a enough of a difference to cause the discrepancy. Third-classes procreation is regulated by the genetics office and they are the ones that produce the offspring so that there isn’t even any need for pregnancy anymore.”

“I learned about that from the tutor,” Gohan said before turning to his dad. “You and mom are really rare. Most saiyans form bonds with their own gender—”

“Um, your mom probably wouldn't want you talking about that, Gohan,” his brother said hesitantly.

The boy blinked. “Why not? It’s just biology.”

Kakarot scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. “Well, I’m sure she’d prefer it if you found a nice earth girl and did things the old fashion way.”

Gohan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why does it matter?”

“Yes, Kakarot,” Raditz added with a knowing look. “Why _does_ it matter?”

The third class shrugged, clearly caught off guard by the direction of the conversation. “I suppose it doesn’t, but Chichi can be a little protective of what Gohan learns about—but why don’t you have any kids, Raditz?” Goku asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

“I’ve not had any desire to become a father,” he said evenly, keeping his true emotions on the subject in check. “Come on Kakarot, we’re both technically still on duty. We should at least be present in the palace.”

His brother nodded and took a deep breath, his nose twitching slightly. “I haven’t seen much of Trunks lately.”

Raditz snorted at the less than subtle jab. “Prince Trunks has taken it upon himself to work with Bulma Briefs on the gravity chambers. After that saiyan died, he’s been reprogramming the fail-safes and re-engineering the stop-all mechanisms so they can’t be subverted again. The king was also concerned that someone could break into the royal training grounds and sabotage the machines while one or both of the princes are inside—potentially killing them.”

“That’s . . . there’s no honor in that,” he said as they began walking back towards the palace.

Raditz kept his eyes ahead. “Honor is for those strong enough to uphold it. Weaklings cannot, and so they must resort to cowardly acts in order to succeed in their endeavors.”

“But killing Vegeta or Trunks like that . . .”

He shrugged. “It’s unlikely—and certainly would not be ordered by another saiyan, but the empire has enemies that will use any means at their disposal to turn the tide of the war . . . or even start a new one.”

“Are wars really that common?” Kakarot asked as they walked inside and began making their way through the corridors.

Gohan spoke before Raditz had a chance to. “This galaxy has lots of wars, dad, but most of them aren’t big. An arcosian named Frieza started leveling planets and that pushed other systems to start weaponizing even if they weren’t directly threatened by Frieza. The Seijin Province is really powerful now—they just _stomped_ this other empire that attacked them a couple months ago.”

“Seijin Province . . . I think Bulma mentioned that once,” Kakarot said absently.

“It’s ruled over by Lord Turles—grandpa’s brother!” Gohan said, a touch of excitement in his voice. “Hailock is supposed to be really really advanced. Can we go there next?”

Kakarot blinked several times before looking at Raditz. “We have an uncle?”

“Da-ad!” Gohan said loudly. “I _told_ you about Lord Turles a couple weeks ago.”

Kakarot shrugged. “I guess. Ask your mom about going when she gets here.”

Raditz had kept fairly quiet throughout the discussion.  There was simply no way that King Vegeta would allow Kakarot and his son to leave the planet. Too much was riding on Kakarot pushing the prince towards the legendary.

As his eye met Kakarot’s, something passed through them . . . understanding. Kakarot was ignoring his son’s requests about the Seijin Projince, not out of stupidity, but because he was aware that there was little chance of them leaving any time soon. Perhaps he’d been giving his brother too little credit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short. I basically had these two scenes written and no place to put them so I sort of pushed them together, but its still way shorter than many of my other chapters. I thought about waiting to release it with Chapter 35, but that chapter is kind of important and it will be a little while before it's released. It needs some major editing.
> 
> It's also not helping that that Frieza/Goku fic of mine is now 12K and has a completed outline for the entire thing. I don't think it'll be some 200K monster like this fic, but it'll prob be around 70K when all is said and done(though I also thought _this_ fic would be 70K so . . .). The other side fics haven't gotten as much attention because I was able to write the ending for the F/G fic really early on. I generally don't devote too much time to projects unless I already have the ending figured out.
> 
> That being said, some of you expressed interest in that fic and I don't want to get your hope up of it coming out any time soon. I don't release fics unless they are basically done. It's fine for a few chapters to need editing here or there, but the story has to be all there with scenes and dialogue in place. Doing this ensures that fics won't be abandoned. 
> 
> One of the reasons I adhere to this rule is because I do have a WIP on another account. It was done just like this fic, however I made the mistake of changing lots of things during the release. I got so many comments from people asking me for various things(such as more 'screen-time' with certain characters) and I made changes to the storyline—drastic changes in an attempt to please everyone. Truthfully, I think the story is better for the changes, however, it got to the point that I was having to rewrite every chapter from scratch because what I originally wrote no longer worked. I lost a lot of steam when that happened and decided to take a break.
> 
> Lost Prince is that break. 
> 
> But after I finish this, I need to go back to that other fic and finish it before putting more work into new fics like the F/G story. Sorry for the long explanation, but I just needed to get that all off my chest lol.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been MIA the last couple of weeks. All my instructors wanted us to have our projects/tests/papers done before spring break so that was taking up the vast bulk of my time, but I'm in spring break for a week. (YAY) I'm going to try and get as much of this fic posted as I can so there may be rapid-fire updates the next few days. :D

Trunks landed softly on the terrace just outside his bedroom. He walked inside and glanced at the clock . . . it had been just over an hour since he’d left, but he’d spent around two weeks in the hyperbolic time chamber. The prince cracked his neck as he headed for the shower. His body suit was torn and burned in a few places and he probably smelled like a goat.

The lavender-haired warrior turned on the shower and stepped under the spray before it fully heated. The frigidity didn’t last long and he was soon enveloped in warmth. He stifled a groan. It felt _good_. That final form of his . . . it was getting easier to get there again. Before Goku had arrived on the planet, he hadn’t wanted to risk leaving, but now he returned to Earth at least once a week for an hour or two. 

It was hard to maintain access to that form if one went too long without transforming, but every time he achieved it . . . he relished the power. Trunks soaped up his body, washing away the singed marks on his skin and build-up of smell that came with not bathing for two weeks. He had to wash his hair twice before finally deciding it was clean enough.  It was long—perhaps too long. His father had liked the length, and so whenever Trunks thought about cutting it, he’d hesitate, but it was falling close to his lower back now.

The prince’s thoughts were interrupted and his eyes slid open.

Trunks sighed wearily as he turned the water off. He grabbed a towel and quickly wiped himself down, his hair hanging around his face in long strings. Trunks stepped out of the room with the black cloth wrapped around his waist and raised a brow as his gaze found the older prince.

Vegeta was seated on his sofa as though he had the right to be there without Trunks’ consent. Goku stood off to the side looking uncomfortable at the situation.

“Can I get dressed?” Trunks asked sardonically.

Vegeta’s head tilted as he eyes moved over the half-breed, taking in the fading bruises and cuts. “Quickly.”

Trunks rolled his eyes as he closed the bedroom doors and headed for the closet. He’d intended to spend the rest of the day asleep—maybe track down Raditz to see if the other saiyan wanted to play a little hooky.

The youngest prince got dressed, pulling on a set of training armor rather than his usual royal uniform. Vegeta and Goku were both in armor so this was only going to go in one direction.  He eventually stepped back out into the sitting room and by now Vegeta had gotten up.

“You left the planet.”

“I did,” he said shortly and Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps he’d expected a fight, but Trunks was disinclined to give him one.

The dark-haired prince continued to watch him. “This isn’t the first time, either. Ever since Kakarot got here, you’ve been leaving to go somewhere—back to Earth?”

“It’s really none of your business, Vegeta,” Trunks said as he crossed his arms.

“It is when you’re hiding something. You’re training to get stronger, aren’t you?”

The half-breed sucked his teeth for a second before looking away. “Think what you wish. If you just came down here for an argument—”

The prince phased out and appeared in front of Trunks, pushing the taller man back. “Kakarot has been here for three months but I still haven’t ascended,” Vegeta said angrily.

Trunks looked over at Goku and the man’s shoulders were slumped as though he took it as a personal attack on himself that Vegeta hadn’t gone super saiyan yet.

He looked back at the older prince. “Goku can’t force it out of you—”

Vegeta gritted his teeth. “I know he’s a super saiyan—he can play the dim clown all he wants but I know—I  _ know _ he is far more powerful than I am—just as I know he won’t transform until I do.”

Trunks felt his lips press into a thin line. This wasn’t going to end well. “If you know that, then what are you doing here?”

“ _He_ won’t give me his full power, but you have no such restrictions. _Everyone_ already knows about you!”

The half-breed looked away. He’d avoided sparring with Vegeta for months, but it seemed that he wouldn’t be able to slip away so easily this time.

“Fine,” he said as he made his way towards the door. Goku blinked in confusion as he passed, and Trunks paused and looked back at them. “You want a fight? Let’s go.”

Vegeta shoved past Goku as he followed and the trio made their way through the hallways of the palace. Servants and nobles alike watched in stunned curiosity to see both princes together—especially because they weren’t bickering. He headed for the training grounds and thought to head for the private yards, but hesitated as the other saiyans watched them. Perhaps . . . 

Trunks halted outside an empty arena. “I’m tired,” he said. “Let’s make this quick.”

Vegeta snarled but followed him in. The nobles would be able to see everything—they would be able to witness what was about to happen.

Trunks walked steadily to the other end before halting and turning back around. He was tempted to make a show of this, but he really _was_ tired. The half-breed took a slow breath as he lifted his left foot and slammed it down onto the ground, cracking the tiles as golden energy kicked up around him in a dramatic gust, whipping his wet hair out and drying it instantly as it whirled around him in a shower of blonde spikes.

Vegeta bared his teeth before letting out a roar of his own and powering up, his white-blue aura flaring up around him. The nobles were crowded around the yard, but the one power level that caused his attention to waver was Raditz. The Red Guard captain elbowed his way to the front, watching with wide eyes as the two princes faced off. Goku also seemed less than enthusiastic about what he was witnessing—oh he loved a good fight, but this was only going to end with one of them unconscious on the ground.

“Come on, Vegeta. I told you I don’t have all day,” he said impatiently.

The older prince snarled before launching himself towards Trunks, fists flying. Trunks easily caught the blow, holding the trembling limb stationary in front of him as his head tilted and he looked up to meet the other saiyan’s gaze.  Vegeta’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he was sent hurtling back and into the ground. Trunks barely moved as the prince came at him again and again, throwing energy blasts and attacks his way one after the other, but clearly not making even a dent in Trunks’ defenses. There were mutterings from the nobles as they watched their pure-blooded prince lose more and more energy. 

The lavender-haired warrior had avoided fighting Vegeta all these months for precisely this reason and as it dragged on, his irritation increased. The older prince let out a guttural yell as he sent out a final flurry of blasts. Trunks batted the energy balls away with no effort and blinked as Vegeta panted loudly from across the yard.

“You’ve had enough, Vegeta,” he said, his tone flat. “I’m not doing this anymore.”

The prince phased with what appeared to be the last of his energy and appeared before the half-breed. “You’ll do this until I’m a super saiyan!”

Trunks shook his head. “I’m not going to keep on beating you into the ground like this—”

“Enjoy it while you can, half-breed because the second I ascend, it’ll be  _ you _ eating dirt!”

The lavender haired warrior sighed. “Whatever gets you through the day, Vegeta.”

Had his father been this much of a pain in the ass to Goku back in his timeline? He began to walk away, but paused when Vegeta called out again.

“This is all your fault!” he screamed, and Trunks shuttered because there was something there that he’d rarely heard from the older saiyan.

_ Desperation. _

He turned around to face the prince once more and grimaced at the trembling clenched fists of a man hitting the edge.

“You stripped me of my ability to become stronger—I’m not even a super saiyan!”

Trunks looked up at the accusation. The prince was so different now than he’d been the first time Trunks had met him. There had been a coldness to the man that kept him from bonding with anyone, but . . . the second time . . .

When he’d met Vegeta again, years afterwards with the threat of Zamasu, the prince had been so different. The way he’d been with the younger Trunks had sprouted a jealousy that had kept him from staying that timeline after Zamasu had been destroyed.  Trunks had heard the story about what had happened to Bulma the first time Beerus had come to Earth—how the destroyer god had barely tapped her, but it had been enough to leave her unconcious. 

_ And it had driven Vegeta insane. _

The prince been fueled by so much power and rage that he’d taken on Beerus and had even succeeded in landing more than a few blows to the destroyer god. His father had loved his family, and the threat of Beerus had eventually driven him to attain that blue form. 

This man that stood in front of him . . . he wasn't like the Vegeta he'd first met . . . he far closer to the man he would eventually become.

Trunks felt his gaze hardening and sneer working its way to the surface.

“You’re right. You  _ are _ weak,” he said, aware of their audience and keeping his words vague. “The Vegeta I know . . . he is respected by every enemy that comes to face him, but you . . . you’re  _ nothing _ .”

The prince’s eyes were wide and Goku shifted behind them. “How—How  _ dare _ you,” Vegeta began but Trunks shook his head in disgust.

“I had to come back to this dirty planet because you’re so  _ weak _ ,” Trunks hissed out. “Frieza, that little  _ insect _ , would have taken your father apart before starting on  _ you _ . I had to come all the way back here to  _ save _ you.”

The prince launched himself at Trunks, but the half-saiyan dodged it, shooting up into the air, watching as Vegeta followed. He abruptly halted and slammed his own fist in dark-haired prince’s face, sending the other man plummeting back down. Vegeta was able to stop his descent towards the ground before he actually hit, but he was unable to even take a breath as  Trunks phased out before reappearing in front of him. The half-breed leaned in on the broken man, his words low enough that the crowd of onlookers wouldn’t hear. “I’m going to take Bulma and go back to Earth. You can’t protect her—you can’t protect anyone!”

The older saiyan’s jaw clenched before he let out a roar and charged him again, fists and legs flying out as he came at the other prince. A few hits landed and Trunks felt his eye twitch. He flared with power, and he saw his father flinch.

Trunks took hold of Vegeta’s arm and twisted it so hard that the bones creaked. “Or perhaps I’ll stay here and be the hero the saiyans want—the one that can keep them all safe from the arcosians.” 

“I knew it!” the prince growled out angrily. “I knew you were nothing but a power-hungry little backstabber!”

The lavender-haired warrior laughed. “I don’t need to backstab you, Vegeta,” he said as he manhandled the shorter man around before hauling off and gut punching him.

The prince doubled over in pain, groaning loudly as the nobles flinched.

Trunks leaned over so his mouth was only a few centimeters from the prince’s ear. “You don’t deserve my mother. That vision you saw before—that was a man worthy of her love and devotion. He was strong—one of the most powerful men in the universe—in  _ ten _ universes. But he didn’t get there because he whined like a  _ bitch _ . He worked for it—for her—and he became everything you’ll never be. You're not him—you’ll never  _ be _ him, and she’ll never _ever_ love an insecure weakling like you—”

Trunks wasn’t able to finish as he was socked in jaw— _ hard. _

He reared back just in time to see the golden flare of the super saiyan as the prince came after him with murder in his eyes.

“I’ll kill you!”

_ And there it was, _ he thought as he blocked a few hits and allowed a few to land. Still, for all that Vegeta was reveling in his new-found power, Trunks met Goku’s eyes just as a powerful blow landed to the side of his head and sent him sailing into the ground. He didn’t get up, but instead bit the side of his mouth and coughed the welling blood out dramatically.

“Now you die, half-breed!” Vegeta called, his eyes rage-filled as his hands came back and energy gathered.  “Galick—”

Goku phased in front of his fallen friend. “No, Vegeta!”

More of the blood seeped out of his mouth as Goku took a fighting stance—ready to defend him.

The prince continued to rage. “Get out of the way, Kakarot! This is between me and that traitorous little worm!”

Goku shook his head frantically. “He said what he had to say to push you!”

Trunks couldn’t see the older prince but the silence was deafening. Suddenly Raditz was by his side and he looked up to meet those worried dark eyes. He was about to warn Raditz away from the line of fire when the golden energy that had enveloped the other man suddenly dispersed.

“Get him out of here,” Vegeta said quietly.

His lover immediately lifted him out of the crater and carried him from the yard. He heard the cheers of nobles as they left—congratulations to the prince for his ascension, and the last thing Trunks saw was Goku standing beside Vegeta with his hand on his shoulder. The half-breed  was taken into the nearby medical bay, a small sentient helping to shove him into a tank as Raditz sputtered out about internal bleeding and broken limbs.

In the end, he was only in the tank for twenty minutes.  He'd hoped to be in there longer, if only so he could catch a quick nap.

His lover's glare was borderline blood-thirsty as the liquid drained out. “I put you in a regen tank for a couple of  _ bruises _ and a  _ split lip?” _   Raditz ground out as the liquid drained away. “I thought you were  _ dying _ !”

Trunks let out a snort as he pulled on a set of non-descript dry clothes. “Let’s just stay here for awhile.”

Raditz's jaw dropped open as he processed the response, but he was hardly an idiot and the glare returned as crossed his arms in irritation. “You allowed yourself to be beaten by him, and now your just  _ sitting _ in here so everyone will think your injuries are worse than they were.”

“What of it?” the prince asked with a shrug as he pulled a boot on.

The guardsman's eye twitched. “I know you’re more powerful than he is . . . These are hardly the actions of a saiyan.”

“I’m not completely saiyan.”

“He won’t thank you for this,” Raditz said with an exasperated shake of his head.

Trunks met the other man’s gaze steadily. “Which is why we’re  _ not _ going to tell him—or anyone else.”

Raditz hesitated then, his silence and confusion of the situation louder than any words he could have spoken.  “How much further,” he began after a moment. “How much further can you go?”

Trunks let his eyes fall shut. His power—the limitless power he’d achieved. He thought of the gods and kais . . . he thought of Beerus and merged Zamasu. The pain such power had brought out in the people he loved before they were erased from existence.

“This time—this place—isn’t ready for what I am.”

Raditz nodded. “I know you still leave the palace and that you travel somewhere else to train. Take me with you next time.”

Trunks licked his lips. “How much of it would the king know about?”

Raditz flinched as he looked away. “I’ve—I’ve never said anything to him that you asked me to keep in confidence.”

The prince shook his head as he slumped down. He wasn’t mad at Raditz—not really. He’d been well aware of Raditz’s loyalty to the king since the beginning . . . Since Raditz had brought Bulma here to Vegeta-sei. King Vegeta was smart—dangerously smart, but Trunks was far from oblivious to the goings-on around him.

He’d merely chosen ignore most of it. 

But Raditz was his . . . his boyfriend? His partner? His confidant?

“I want to trust you, but . . .”

Raditz swallowed before moving closer and taking Trunks’ hand into his own. “Prince Vegeta—he’s a super saiyan now. I can leave the Red Guard,” he added after a moment. “Perhaps we can even return to Earth . . . it’ll be just as it was before.”

Trunks shook his head. “We can’t go back when everything is here. Bulma is here, Goku and his family . . .”

He could see the relief his words brought in the other man. Raditz may have had . . . feelings for him—most likely would have even left with him if he’d asked, but he also loved his job—enjoyed the position in the Saiyan Empire that he’d earned.

“You _don’t_ want to leave?” his lover asked hesitantly.

The lavender-haired warrior looked away uncertainly. “I don’t know anymore. I don’t . . . there are things I like about being here, but I also think that this won’t last forever.”

Raditz leaned in. “It doesn't need to last forever, Trunks. Just for as long as we live.”

The prince let out a snort of amusement. Could he find peace for as long as he lived? “I want to protect everyone,” he whispered. “I want to make sure this timeline isn’t erased.”

“You will—you have, remember?” Raditz asked. “You spent so many years accounting for everything.”

Trunks chuckled. “Then why didn’t I know about Jiren?”

Raditz blinked. “What? You . . . .”

The prince pulled away slightly. “I never encountered him in the other timeline. He’s so powerf—”

“The God-King cares little for those of us in this galaxy,” the dark-haired saiyan said quickly. “And he’s fairly passive.”

His expression flattened. “People can be peaceful for centuries and all it takes is one bad decision to destroy everything,” he slowly, every word piercing him like a red-hot knife. Even now Zamasu lived in godly obliviousness to his own festering evil.

Raditz must have sensed his rapidly degenerating mood because he pulled the prince to his chest and held him. “We’re not going anywhere, Trunks.”

The half-breed let his head rest on the taller saiyan's shoulder for a second, slumping against the other man. It couldn't last, though—not when someone was approaching. The door opened, and he looked over Raditz’s shoulder and met the dark gaze of his grandfather. Raditz turned around and instantly gave a bow of deference before the king made a gesture for the captain to leave.

His lover shot him a worried look but vacated anyway when Trunks failed to speak up. The room was quiet and the prince hesitate to speak first, choosing instead to sit down again with a sigh.

“You made me very proud today,” the king said after a moment. “Prince Vegeta . . . he needed this.”

Trunks nodded. “I know. Everyone thinks I’m so oblivious, but . . . I’ve heard things around the training yards.”

King Vegeta nodded in silent understanding. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, saiyans aren’t exactly known for their subtlety.”

Trunks snorted in amusement before becoming serious again. “Perhaps I should leave. Vegeta is a super saiyan now. He can protect the planet from most threats.”

“Most,” the king said. “But not _all_.”

Trunks didn’t respond and so the king sat down beside him. “Things never turn out the way we intend them. We plan and manipulate but it’s never quite perfect. I know none of this is what you intended. I can tell you love your father, but you never intended to share his world with him.”

Trunks smiled as he remembered the last time he’d seen the other Vegeta. He’d been . . . happy—content in a way Trunks had never thought possible during their previous battles together.

“I met a Vegeta of another timeline. He was . . . He was a great man—dignified and regal. He lost his planet but he never lost is pride. He was . . . was hard on me, but not unkind. Even though he had a son of his own, he treated me with care.”

The king took a moment to digest the information. “It was for that Vegeta that you saved us?”

Trunks shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. Everything made so much sense back then, but things are so messed up now.”

King Vegeta blinked slowly as their gazes met. “Do you wish to be the heir to the throne?”

Trunks instantly shook his head, eyes wide. “No—I’ve never wanted that.”

The king nodded. “You did the right thing today. I’ll never strip you of your title as a prince, but perhaps you should consider other responsibilities.”

“Other responsibilities?” he asked after a second.

His grandfather swallowed. “Things that would take you off planet, perhaps. I wanted to give you a life of leisure and the freedom to do whatever you desired, but it seems that such actions have only put you in the eye of the storm.”

Trunks couldn’t help the derisive snort that escaped him. “You want me out of the palace?”

The king was quick with his denial. “I don’t  _ want _ you to go anywhere. What I want is for you to be happy, but I don’t think you’ll get there until you have a purpose.”

Trunks was reminded of Whis’ words so many years ago.

_ You merely need to find something . . . different to focus on. _

They echoed in his mind and he nodded. They were no less true now then they’d been back then.

“What did you have in mind?”

The king was too well versed in manipulation for his relief to show. “I know you possess a brilliant mind. Bulma Briefs has often sung your praises in our meetings. I can not simply send you to the labs, but I will assign tutors to begin educating you in war strategy.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I want you to join the Imperial Fleet.”

“Fleet? I—I didn’t . . .” Trunks began before trailing off in confusion.

The king spoke thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t have expected you to know much about our military as it’s never been overly large. It’s growing every day and with Miss Briefs’ new design schematics, we will soon overtake the Arcosian Empire—what’s left of it anyway.”

“The military . . .” he echoed. He’d never considered such a thing—ever. Growing up on Earth, there had only ever been the fight for survival against the androids, and afterwards during the few years of peace before Zamasu, No countries had even bothered to form anything like that.

But with the saiyans . . . the option was there.

“I don’t know anything about being in an army—navy . .  uh . . . space . . fleet?”

That drew a rare smile from the king. “Perhaps not, but that is why I will bring people in to teach you. In four months, one of our newest command ships will be ready for launch. I will be installing you aboard as a liaison between the palace and the fleet. You will represent the royal house in real time.”

“That seems like a lot for someone who doesn’t know anything about space battles.”

The king nodded. “Then you must learn quickly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 35-37 are my favorite chapters of this fic for some reason. This is the beginning of all the end-game stuff that's eventually going to go down. 
> 
> I'm re-reading this as I'm doing final edits and I may come back and further flesh out Trunks' thoughts in this chapter. I'm not really sure yet. I don't want to bog the story down with a bunch of additional text that you can probably glean anyway from the dialogue and the situation, but I do like fully fleshed out thought-processes for my characters. I try not to spoon-feed my readers with every little thing, but I also think it helps to cement the character's intentions.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 

Raditz was standing outside the door when the king finally exited the room. Vegeta eyed the Red Guard captain with a raised brow. It was fairly obvious that Raditz intended to return to Trunks as soon as the ruler was out of sight, but there were other things to be discussed before he turned the younger saiyan loose—not in the least of which was assuring that Raditz would support Trunks’ new responsibilities within the military.

“Walk with me,” he said as he turned to leave.

Raditz didn’t hesitate, though his eyes moved to the door as he nodded solemnly. “Yes, my king,” he said. 

Vegeta said nothing more at first, content to gather his thoughts as they began making the rather long trek from the medical wing back towards the main section of the palace. This was something of a delicate matter . . . especially with all the other irons he had in fire.

Best to start with the most obvious point. “Prince Trunks is joining the Imperial Fleet,” he said simply.

Raditz’s steps faltered slightly, but the king couldn’t see his expression. “Yes, my king.”

The tone was flatter than he’d have liked, but thankfully Raditz once again proved to be a professional in just about any situation. 

“You were an officer of the military—highly regarded by your peers.”

“Thank you, my king.”

“You will begin preliminary lessons with Prince Trunks. I will be bringing on more specialized instructors, but you will begin teaching him the basic foundation of the system immediately. Report back to me on his progress as well as his mental state going forward.”

There was no immediate response which made the king narrow his eyes.

“My king, I . . .” Raditz began after a moment. “Thank you for—for entrusting this task to me . . .”

“I’m hearing a ‘but’,” he said lowly.

“I . . . I can not continue to speak of Prince Trunks’ private life with anyone.”

The king snorted as they came to a stop outside his office. He met the eyes of his secretary, and the man didn’t even have to say anything for the king to know that _someone_ awaited him in his office. And there was only one person who could or would bully their way into there unattended.

He turned back to Raditz. “You continue this  _ affair _ with the prince entirely at my discretion. It is not a right, but a  _ privilege _ that you are allowed to dally with the savior. Your status here has continued to be of value to me, and you may be Bardock’s eldest son, but that does not automatically qualify you to say ‘no’ to your  _ king.” _

The last word came out with more of a snarl than he’d have liked and the other man flinched back.

“Sire, I meant no offense,” Raditz said quickly. “But the prince has asked that I cease reporting on conversations he has with me in confidence.”

The king raised a brow and watched the other man for a moment. He’d known that his grandson would realize what was happening at some point. He was honestly surprised it had taken this long for Trunks to say anything about it. If he pressed Raditz about this, it was possible that their relationship would break apart. 

The king grimaced. In some ways, it would benefit the Saiyan Empire if Trunks were to end his relationship with the guardsmen. Their liaison had been convenient at first, but there were others that would make far better matches, politically—if not physically and emotionally, for the lavender-haired prince.

But even with those thoughts, Raditz was . . . not a terrible choice of mate for Prince Trunks—if that indeed was where their relationship was headed. He was not politically connected to any of the noble houses and thus could not be used by any of them to elevate their position or to infringe on Prince Vegeta's claim as crown prince. He had some value as a member of Bardock’s bloodline, and he was also loyal to the throne.

“You will tell me if there are . . . problems,” he said at last.

Raditz’s eyes were wide as he nodded. “Yes, sire,” he said with a deeper than usual bow.

The king made a gesture of dismissal and Raditz hastily scurried away. He watched the retreating back of the other saiyan for a few seconds before sighing and turning around to face the door to his office. 

He lips twisted into a scowl as he spoke. “Do not let her intimidate you again. She has no power here, anymore.”

The secretary nodded silently as the king walked forward and stepped into the room. She was seated there in front of his desk. Her back was to him but she didn’t get up or turn to face him. She gave no acknowledgement to his presence or rank.  He supposed he shouldn’t have expected otherwise. 

He came around his desk and sat down. She looked as beautiful as always while maintaining the air of a skilled warrior. He vividly remembered her defeating him during a mating season of their shared youth.

“I bet you think you’ve won something,” she said quietly.

His eyes met hers for the first time, and he shrugged. Of course he’d won. She wouldn’t be here otherwise. Trunks had been defeated by Vegeta and the crown prince was a super saiyan now. The houses would always support a full-blooded saiyan over a half-breed, even one of tremendous power.

“You still owe me a child.”

Vegeta shook his head. “I owe you nothing, Turna. You had your chance and all you had to show for it was Tarble. I need no other runt weaklings running through my palace.”

She made a sound of disdain. “No, you content yourself with half-breeds and lab experiments. Who knows  _ what _ is in the prince’s DNA.”

His eyes narrowed . “The last time we spoke, that  _ half-breed _ was good enough for your niece,” he said, ignoring her less-than-subtle jab, before tapping his desk in impatience. “At any rate, it hardly matters. Prince Vegeta has become the legendary.”

“One of many, it seems,” she said flippantly. “Prince Trunks is an heir to the royal bloodline, but what of Kakarot? People are saying that he too has ascended. Perhaps Prince Vegeta really is stronger than Prince Trunks, but the half-breed and Kakarot are allies. What’s to stop them from usurping power?”

The king immediately dismissed the speculation. “If either of them were interested in such a thing, they’d have done it long before Prince Vegeta ascended. You are out of options, Turna. Return to your estate and cease your scheming. The royal wing is no place for you.”

She was silent for a long moment before she rose up to stand before his desk. Her fist slammed down on the wood, cracking the piece of furniture down the middle.

“Vegeta should have been my son!” She growled out furiously. “He should have been mine. You only had to give me one more chance and I’d have given you a saiyan of real power—a  _ true _ prince.”

The king stood up as well, ignoring the way his organized pads had fallen all over the ground. “Vegeta  _ is _ a true prince. He is everything we hoped for and more.” 

“ _ Where _ is Tarble?” she asked, her voice more agitated than he’d ever heard her.

Of all the things he’d thought she’d ask him, that had never crossed his mind. She’d said nothing when he hadn’t named Tarble in honor of the royal house or declared him an heir upon his birth. She’d never fought his decision to send their son away. She’d always been so calculating and pragmatic about the child they’d produced together.

“Where did you banish him to?” she asked, her fists clenched by her side. 

His head tilted to the side. “What are planning now?”

Her lips thinned. “You would not give me a son to call my own and you took the only descendant of my flesh. I will go to him—train him, and return when he can earn the respect of the saiyan race.”

Vegeta sighed tiredly. “He will never be king.”

She snorted. “I do not expect him to be King. I expect him to continue my bloodline. He will have no connection to the throne.”

Vegeta knew he shouldn’t tell her. He’d deliberately kept Tarble’s location a secret, not only to keep others from possibly using the other saiyan against him, but also to protect the boy from the inevitable corruption that came with the manipulations of power hungry nobles. 

Tarble wasn’t built to withstand that.

He tried reasoning with her again. “Our son will never be what you hope him to be. I thought you understood that when we sent him away,” he said quietly.

She swallowed. “If he can’t—can’t adequately assimilate to saiyan society, then I will leave him there. I merely want a chance to try with him.”

He watched her for a few second longer before nodding. “Very well. He is on Tek-Tek.”

The noble woman stared at him for a moment, as if unable to believe that he’d actually told her, and there was a strange look on her face—a tired relieved . . . _happiness_ that he’d never seen before. She didn’t thank him—she said nothing at all as she turned and hurried out the door. Vegeta looked back down at his shattered desk before making his way out of the room as well. 

“Have someone take care of that,” he said to the secretary before walking towards one of his command rooms.

 

* * *

  
  


The hour was late and the street deserted when the king landed in front of the old building. He’d seen this place a thousand times through the video feeds, but this was his first time here in the flesh. It was larger than he’d been expecting and the structure had clearly been some kind of business long ago before Bardock had acquired it.

He rapped on the door loudly and stood waiting—a new experience for a king, but then Bardock had been at the center of a hundred new experiences for King Vegeta over the years. Only a few moments ticked by before the door slid open.

Bardock blinked at him in confusion and shock at his presence. He looked around swiftly and seemed even more panicked as he realized that the king was here without any escort.

“Oh great ancestor, get inside!” he said as he reached out and pulled the king into the building. “What are you doing here? What if someone _sees_ you?”

Vegeta looked around at the first level of the home. This space had clearly been the draw for Bardock. It was large with dozens of tables situated all over. Experiments and inventions covered every flat surface in sight and the chaos of it was in stark contrast to the meticulous organization that Bardock used when running his departments in the government.

Bardock had held onto this building even after moving into the palace. A place to escape, perhaps. The king wondered if Bardock would still keep it even after their conversation.

“I’ve come to take you home,” he said, as his eyes moved back to Bardock. His lover was wearing a shape-less overcoat rather than the form-fitting green and grey suit that he’d worn like a second skin for so many years. This was not the refined beauty of a palace scientist, but the rough magnificence of an unpolished diamond.

Bardock rolled his eyes. “You’re wasting your time—”

“Turna has left the planet . . . permanently.”

Bardock's brow furrowed. “What? No, that’s . . .”

The king raised a brow. “Did you think I would not figure it out, Bardock?”

The third class looked away, his expression unsure of exactly  _ what _ the king knew. After all these years, Vegeta could read him like a book. The king watched him with interest, wondering how far Bardock would take this sham of his. The seconds ticked by like hours before Barock sighed and apparently decided to drop the pretenses. 

“She is supposed to become queen again,” he said quickly. “She won’t make the same mistakes twice. She’d do great things for our people—”

“I don’t give a shit,” The king barked out, and he relished the way Bardock swallowed uncomfortably. “Her ship will meet with an unfortunately unknown asteroid field within the next few hours and that is all there is to it.”

Bardock reared back, his eyes wide. “You—you can’t have done that.”

His lips spread into a toothy smile. “I can. _ I did. _ One would think that after Cado, you’d know that I won’t tolerate anyone attempting to take you from me.”

The third class shook his head, his hands coming up in supplication. “She didn’t—”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed as he took the hands that would beg for another before him. He held onto calloused and scarred fingers, mentally noting that from now on Bardock would wear those specialized gloves that Bulma Briefs had brought with her.

“No,” he said after a moment. “But you used her as an excuse to leave. I’ve removed the excuse and now it’s time to return home.”

Bardock blinked stupidly at him so the king used a burst of energy and pushed Bardock until his back hit the wall beside the staircase. He moved in close, and his fingers tore through his lover's clothing like tissue paper.

The third-class neither protested nor struggled as the king leaned in and their lips met. Bardock was less that participatory for a moment, but then as though a light switch was flipped, his arms were suddenly around the king, pulling him closer.

Vegeta groaned, grinding his pelvis against his lover’s rapidly shredding clothing. He dragged Bardock away from the wall and up the stairs. He barely glanced around the second floor before pulling the scientist down a side hallway towards his bed.  He all but threw Bardock onto the mattress, his eyes moving over the slightly singed and torn clothing that barely covered his lover’s modesty—what was left of it, anyway. He swiftly began pulling his own overcoat and jump suit off.

The king was entirely naked as he moved over Bardock and settled atop the third-class. “It turns you on, doesn’t it,” he whispered as he moved his mouth over the sensitive skin of the other man’s throat. “That I worked so hard, for so long, to have you. That I killed a  _ queen _ for you.”

Bardock gasped at the statement, but he didn’t deny the king’s words, instead, his arms came up to encircle Vegeta’s waist. The king couldn’t help the smug smile the crossed his face as he pulled away.

The scientist looked somewhat lost, but the king ignored that in favor of reaching over them towards the compartment built into the headboard. He pulled a small bottle out and roughly turned Bardock onto his stomach. The king hastily squeezed the slick into the crack of Bardock’s ass before he shoved a finger inside, then two, working the other man mercilessly.

“V—Vegeta!” Bardock whispered, his cock grinding into the bed even as he tried to push back on the fingers.

The king eventually had had enough and he pulled his fingers free. He lined his cock up with the slick hole and pushed inside. He was neither gentle or slow about it. He’d waited far too long to do anything but rut against his lover’s backside.

He leaned over and plastered his front to his lover’s back. “You like it like this, don’t you,” he said, a familiar rasp appearing as he spoke while exerting so much force. “You like it when I use you—hold you down and take what I want.”

“Ah!” Bardock cried out in response at a particularly well-placed thrust.

“There will be no more running, my love,” Vegeta whispered against the other man’s neck, his eyes on the unmarked skin there. He reached up and slowly slid his hands over Bardock’s wrists, holding the other man in place.

“What are you—”

Before Bardock could finish, Vegeta sunk his teeth into his lover’s neck. The third class immediately began to thrash against him, hips bucking to try and remove the other saiyan, but Vegeta held on tightly. If anything his teeth dug in further, and he tasted the gush of blood—felt it seeping out from around his mouth.

He held steady until the third class stopped fighting. “You won’t escape me again, Bardock,” he said, his thrusts becoming harder, hips snapped against the other man’s plush ass.

“You—you marked me!” Bardock said with more coherence that Vegeta would have credited him for.

The king pulled away enough to see the damage he’d done. “I'm _done_ waiting,” he snarled out as his mind swelled with pride at having finally taken what he’d wanted for so long.

“I can’t believe . . .” whatever Bardock was about to say was lost as the other man came into the bedsheets.

The third-class laid there unmoving, the only sign of life being his rapid breathing. His eyes were closed and his face blissed out. Vegeta had come to love it when he was able to put the other saiyan in this state—a recursive pleasurable condition that didn’t allow for any balking or fighting.

Vegeta pulled out of Bardock, turning him back over and throwing a leg over his shoulder before thrusting back inside. He normally loved seeing his cock move in and out of that tight hole, but this time his eyes were on the bleeding and bruised mark that colored Bardock’s throat. The third class had thrown a hand over his eyes, even as he panted in pleasure as their coupling continued. 

They’d occupied this position and others countless times over the decades. He knew Bardock’s body better than he knew his own, but no matter how many times they were together, each experience brought about something new—some new emotion or reaction.

Bardock’s body had changed over the years, his body becoming a bit more slender as he spent more time in his labs rather than out training. That wasn’t to say that Bardock was out of shape—no one would ever say that Bardock couldn't wipe the floor with most of the elites that populated the training yards, but it was very different from the more compactly muscled frame he’d had when he’d first entered the palace.

The king allowed his lover’s leg to slip off his shoulder before leaning down and kissing Bardock. The scientist slowly removed his arm from his eyes and the king smiled into the kiss, smearing the other man’s own blood over his lips. There was something so primal about it—they were following the ways of the great ancestor when all saiyans mated in such a way.

Eventually Vegeta’s own orgasm almost snuck up on him and he came with a low groan that was muffled by Bardock’s lips. He gave a few more shallow thrusts before pulling out. The king let his body fall to the side and his eyes absently mapped every defect in the cracked plaster of the ceiling. Things were quiet for a while, neither of them even shifting slightly lest they break the tranquility of the moment.

But all things—good and bad—must come to an end.

“I want all the cameras out of my house.”

Vegeta blinked, but otherwise made no other movements. “You’ll be in the palace, anyway so it hardly matters.”

Bardock reached up and ran his fingers over the wound on his neck. Vegeta could see him pulling his hand away and eyeing the streaks of blood that coated his skin.

“The mark will fade eventually,” Bardock said flatly.

The king felt the skin beneath his eye twitch as he turned onto his side and faced the third-class. “Only if you do not mark me back. And . . .” he trailed off as various scenarios raced through his mind.

“And what?” Bardock asked.

He chose the path that he was nearly certain would yield the desired results. He’d waited this long, already. A few more steps—a few more calculations—and he’d have it all.

“If you continue being stubborn about this,” he said, his tone only slightly self-satisfied. “I will have no choice but to continue marking you. Over and  _ over _ again.” Bardock’s eyes moved to meet his, clearly gearing up for a fight, but the king swiftly finished his thought. “But I will make a deal with you. Mark me in return—be my true mate, and I will allow you continue on in anonymity.

Bardock’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You—you would do that?”

_ You’re mine now, _ his mind whispered even as he spoke with a congenial tone. “You will decide when our people are ready to know of you.”

His lover looked away, unsure and untrusting of how easy the king was making this. “I—I don’t know . . .”

Vegeta reached over and slid his hand over Bardock jaw, gently turning his face back towards him. “I will accept no more protests,” he said firmly. “No more lies or excuses. You love me—I  _ know _ you do. You would not have abided remaining in my bed for so many years if you did not feel for me.”

Bardock rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. “I had little choice in the matter, as you well know.”

The king felt no shame or guilt at the way he’d practically  _ willed _ their relationship into existence. “I know that you enjoyed speaking to me of your work—that you lingered with me long after to simply talk to me.”

“You—you were the only one who even pretended interest,” Bardock said lamely.

Vegeta smiled. “There was never a falsity to our conversations. Had I wished you to be gone, you would have,” he said before speaking of emotions unfamiliar to him. “It was strange to me to realize that I _wanted_ you to remain with me.”

Bardock was quiet for a moment before he sat up. He crossed his legs in front of him as he turned to face the king. Vegeta blinked in confusion, but sat up as well.

His lover hesitated before speaking again. “I did not grow up a noble. I was born with a power level of five and my records still show me to be little better than a few thousand. I—I can’t go through re-testing.”

He couldn’t help the way the corner of his mouth curled up into a smirk. At this point, he didn’t give a shit about re-testing. He knew what Bardock was, even if Bardock refused to reveal it. They’d cross that bridge when they came to it. For now, his immediate aim was a reciprocated mating mark.

“That’s fine. You will not reside in the royal wing—not until you wish to, but you will spend every evening with me.”

Bardock immediately balked. “Every—you might as well  _ announce _ it if that’s what you’re demanding.”

The king shrugged indifferently. “I ask only this concession of you while allowing you to run through the palace unprotected and unwatched.”

The scientist’s eyes flattened. “I am not a child—”

“But you _are_ my mate,” he said sternly. “You are able to protect yourself, but should anyone find out, you would be vulnerable to enemies.”

Bardock all but rolled his eyes. “What enemies? The Arcosian Empire is in shambles and we have three super saiyans on the planet. No one would dare attack—”

“There is more than one way to attack the throne.”

The third class scowled but eventually relented with a sigh. “Fine,” he said.

A smirk spread over Vegeta's features. “I also want you to return to your position in the science division.”

Bardock froze for a second, and the king wondered if he’d pushed the other man too far. He was about to take back his last request when his lover finally nodded.

“I suppose this was always the end that you planned for,” he said, a note weariness entering his tone.

Vegeta reached out and drew the other man to him. He propped them both up against the headboard. 

When he spoke again, his words were . . . thoughtful. “I have studied other species, you know—tried to understand the best way to show you the way I feel about you. There is a saying that the humans have. ‘If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't, they never were’ It’s a notion that I encountered many times as I tried to understand what it was that I felt when I looked at you.”

He paused and gathered his thoughts. “I tried to give you freedom—I tried to leave you be, but the more I distance I allowed between us, the more pain I was in. I know that . . . that I am not the only person—that there are two of us here—but in the end, I couldn't follow the poems and sonnets of other species. I had to follow the instinct and will of the saiyan race. If you continue to run, I will always chase after you. If you hide, I will always find you, but if you stay . . . If you stay, I will always cherish you.”

He looked down and met Bardock’s eyes. The other saiyan swallowed before nodding shallowly. Vegeta tilted his head to the side as his lover shifted and a smile spread over his lips as he felt sharp teeth sink into his flesh.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I really want to make it clear that Turna was never that ‘evil bitchy woman trying to break up the yaoi OTP’ or whatever. Her story is a tragedy and it’s supposed to be. King Vegeta is not a nice person—he’s border-line a villain at times, and she didn’t deserve what happened to her.
> 
> Also, I'm going to try and get at least up to chapter 40 posted while I'm on break, with a chapter a day if I can. :)


	37. Chapter 37

Trunks’ morning was the rare lazy one. Raditz was leisurely mouthing his neck and Trunks did his best to keep a bit of control even as he wrapped an arm around his lover's back.

“We have all morning, my prince,” the saiyan said into his skin.

Trunks was about to respond when they both froze. Trunks blinked in confusion several times and the power vanished nearly as fast as it had appeared. Had they achieved it? No—no that couldn’t be right. Goku had only just reached super saiyan two while Vegeta was still level one.

“Who—who is that?” Raditz asked, his voice shaking slightly.

It hit him like a galick gun to the back of the head. “Oh my _god,”_ Trunks said, pushing the other man away as his own erection withered. He phased to his closet, pulling on the grey jumpsuit and indigo overcoat he usually favored. His tail got jammed painfully beneath the material as he struggled to pull the ensemble on and together. Raditz wasn’t fairing much better, but his overcoat had fewer fastenings and so he was already holding Trunks’ cape out as the prince pulled the second boot on.

“Who is it?” Raditz asked as he fixed the clasps in place and smoothed out the material of the cape.

“It’s my father,” Trunks said before he could stop himself.

Raditz paused. “But Prince Vegeta—”

“ _Not_ him,” he said before hurrying out onto the balcony.

The prince heard Raditz yelling something behind him, but he ignored his lover as he kicked off from the ground and flew faster than he had in a long time—breaking more than a few mach barriers. The last location of the power levels was in the city and he headed into the heart of the market.

Broken scouters littered the ground while the ones still in operation were being checked on, talking wildly as they tried to figure out what had caused the mass malfunction. No one was paying attention to the two figures in strange attire that stood to the side, but Trunks would know them anywhere. He approached and _felt_ the second his father spotted him as well.

That gaze—there was a fondness there that filled him with warmth that he hadn’t felt since leaving the other timeline. He couldn’t stop the small smile that crossed his lips as he met the other man’s gaze.

“Father,” he whispered when he was close enough not to be heard, because while Goku and Vegeta could blend in with the other saiyans, there was no missing Trunks.

A few people even called out to him. “Prince Trunks!”

He ignored them, longing to touch his father but stopping short of them. Goku was looking around in confusion, clearly startled by the sheer volume of saiyans, while Vegeta didn’t seem phased—at least he didn’t allow anything to show.

Vegeta’s eyes were on him—examining him for differences since their last meeting, he assumed. He wasn’t quite as slim as he’d been before. He’d packed muscle back on while training with Raditz, and the jumpsuit and overcoat did little to hide every curvature of his body.

There was also his tail.

His father eyed it carefully before looking back up at him. There were questions in those eyes—ones he wasn’t sure that he wanted to answer. Would his father be happy or angry at what he’d done?

Finally after the silence between them had stretched long enough, he spoke. “What are you doing here?” he asked. It was the question that he most desperately wanted an answer to.

Vegeta crossed his arms. “You just _left,”_ he said, and Trunks could hear the agitation in the older man’s voice. The lavender-haired warrior hadn’t been thinking of the others when he’d left—the thought of what they’d think when he went missing hadn’t ever crossed his mind. He hadn't been able to think of anything but his own pain.

“Is that Prince Vegeta and Kakarot? What are they wearing?”

Trunks sighed, realizing that far too many eyes were on them. “We need to go somewhere else.”

Vegeta nodded and the trio lifted off the ground. Goku’s head was swiveling around as he took in the vast skyline of the capital before his eyes landed on the imperial palace.

“Wow,” he said finally.

Trunks smiled a bit, somehow proud of his . . . his home.

He was debating on exactly where to take them when his communicator went off. “Trunks!” a familiar voice called. “Get back to the Palace! There are unknown power levels on the planet—”

The king was clearly very agitated at the idea of two large unknown powers coming planet-side without his knowledge.

“I know who they are,” Trunks said, interrupting his grandfather mid sentence.

“You—what? Who are they?” the king demanded.

“Old friends of mine.”

The comm was silent for a few seconds, before King Vegeta barked out, “Bring them to the palace, then.”

Trunks glanced at his father. “I don’t know if that’s—”

“That _wasn’t_ a request, prince!”

Trunks rolled his eyes. “Yes, uncle,” he said absently.

Vegeta flew beside him. “He never could take ‘no’ for an answer.”

They landed in one of the more secluded side yards. It was deserted for now but it wouldn’t remain that way for long. Already, he could feel other power levels moving towards them.

He turned to face the pair. “Why exactly did you come here?” he asked.

Goku blinked and shrugged. “We were worried about you, Trunks,” he said. “You left without saying anything. We came to make sure you’re doing okay.”

He’d been in this timeline for years already. “Why now?”

The taller saiyan bit his lip and his eyes moved to the side as though he were trying to remember something specific. “Well we tried about ten years in the past but you weren’t there, and we figured you were moving around the timeline taking care of things. So we skipped ahead and here you are!”

The lavender haired prince sighed. “Yes, here I am.”

Vegeta, who had been silent up to that point finally took a step towards him. He was once again looking his son over quizzically, his gaze lingering on the oddly-colored tail.

He looked up and met Trunks’ eyes. “A true prince,” he murmured and something inside Trunks nearly burst. His jaw trembled as sheer emotion threatened to overcome him.

“Father, I . . . I’ve missed you,” he said, reaching out slightly before dropping his arm entirely.

Vegeta grimaced. “Come here, son,” he said.

Trunks blinked in confusion but stepped forward. He was only mildly worried about Vegeta punching him in the gut for being a weakling, but he was even more taken aback when the shorter man wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close.

“F . . . Father,” he said, his breath catching as he wrapped both arms around the other saiyan. “I’m—”

“Release the prince!” a voice called out and Vegeta abruptly pushed him away.

His father looked over to see the group of saiyans charging in their direction—led by Raditz.

“Oh _shit,”_ Trunks said shaking his head. His lazy morning was turning into a long day. Worse still, the king and the _other_ Prince Vegeta were right behind Raditz.

“It’s okay, Raditz!” he said loudly, coming to stand in front of Vegeta.

“Raditz?” his father questioned from behind him.

The Red Guard captain was glaring at him as he came to a stop in front of the small group. “What the hell, Trunks!” he said heatedly, apparently forgetting that there _were_ other people there. “You just took off—you can’t do that! You’re a prince!”

“Um . . .” he said, eyes moving towards King Vegeta apprehensively. The king was looking over the two newcomers, his eyes calculating the best course of action.

“Is that Prince Vegeta?” one of the guards asked.

“Can’t be,” another said. “He’s older and besides the prince is here.”

The king was looking between Trunks and his father critically before apparently figuring out the situation. “Brother!” he called, coming to stand beside oldest prince. “Prince _Vedera_ has finally returned to us, it seems.”

Vegeta raised a brow and looked from his father to Trunks before nodding. “Brother,” he said with some reservation.

“Have you been staying with Lord Turles these last few decades?” The king asked, his eyes moving from Vegeta to Goku speculatively.

“Tur—” Goku began, but his words were cut off as Vegeta elbowed him in the gut.

His father nodded shallowly. “Yes . . . my king. Lord Turles has been very welcoming towards me.”

The king inclined his head in acceptance before turning back to the guards. “Have rooms prepared for Prince Vedera and Lord Turles!”

They hastily nodded and ran off. Gossip would be running rampant within minutes, Trunks was sure. He sighed, but the relief was short lived as King Vegeta’s harsh gaze landed on him.

The king’s lips were thin. “Now does anyone want to tell me what the _hell_ is going on?”

Trunks hastily spoke up. “I just need to talk to them real quick and then they’ll be on their way—”

“Not so fast, boy,” his father cut in. “We have traveled all this way to see you—and now I find out that my home planet still exists—with you living upon it—and you intend to just send us on our way?”

Trunks felt something in him shrivel up. He looked down, shame washing over him. His father—the person he’d come here to save—was standing on his home world for the first time since he’d been a child . . . and Trunks had tried to get him to leave as quickly as possible.

“I—I apologize, father. Of course, you should stay for as long as you like.”

Vegeta raised a brow. “Stop your sniveling, boy. It’s not becoming of a saiyan—or a prince.”

Trunks swallowed uncomfortably.

“Let us go back inside,” the king said after the silence threatened to stretch on. “I’ll have a feast made in honor of your arrival.”

“Food? Alright!” Goku said happily.

Both Prince Vegetas rolled their eyes at the other saiyan’s antics. He stepped closer to Raditz as they began walking inside.

“Where is . . . our Goku?”

His lover shrugged. “He is to spend today with his mate. I assume he is aware of their arrival, though.”

Trunks nodded. Perhaps Chichi wasn’t letting Goku out of the house for some reason. He’d either show up or not. They soon entered the sun room first and Goku was looking around excitedly as the king led them down the hall. His grandfather was barking out orders to various secretaries as they went deeper and deeper into the structure.

Windows gave way to the pale golden glow of artificial firelight illuminating frescoes of various battles fought through the centuries. They passed the throne room and his father paused, his face taking on an expression that Trunks had never seen before.

The others stopped as well, which the king noticed. The man turned and looked over his son from another timeline before turning to Trunks.

“Take them to the informal dining room,” he said.

Trunks looked from the king to his father before nodding.

“Come on,” he said to Goku. Apprehension flashed over the other saiyan’s face for a second before Trunks touched his shoulder. “He needs a minute,” Trunks added quietly.

Goku grimaced but nodded and allowed himself to be led away. The other prince looked between his father and the man who was clearly him, but didn’t seem to know what to make of the situation. He looked from the other Vegeta to Trunks, making the connection with the man that Trunks cared about so much to have done all of this.

He turned away without another word and followed Goku as well.

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta noticed the others leaving, though he felt somewhat detached from the situation. Before him, stood the grand throne room. He looked over the large geometric stained glass windows that lined the upper walls. The glass gave way to similarly patterned stone mosaics that stretched the entire length of the room.

He stepped inside, his boots giving off no sound. He felt like a ghost in the grave of his people—except they were all alive. Himself, his father, everyone there. The capital was teeming with life—with millions of saiyans.

He kept walking until he stood before the throne.

A seat of power that he never even thought to see again, much less sit upon. But it wasn’t his . . . this timeline that Trunks had created was the home of another Prince Vegeta. One who wasn’t damaged and shamefully mated to a human woman.

Trunks’ face appeared in his mind—both the future one, and the small boy back in his own time. He remembered his father personally executing saiyans who’d dared to procreate outside the race. . . but then how was Trunks a prince?

There was no hiding what he was, but things had clearly changed as well. His son had a tail . . .

“Are you here to steal my throne . . . son?” the king asked from behind him.

Vegeta snorted in amusement, but his eyes lingered on the throne. “Hardly. I am merely here to see my son.”

The king made a noise of agreement. “Trunks told me that his father was killed while he was still a child, but that he met another—someone he called, Father.”

Vegeta nodded. “The first time we met, he hadn’t even been born—I’d only really known his mother a few days. The second time, my son was an infant and he a seventeen year old. The last time . . . the last time he was twenty two.”

“He is twenty eight now, I believe,” the king murmured. “He must have cared about you a great deal to have done all of this for you.”

Vegeta’s brow furrowed in confusion as he finally looked towards his father.

The older saiyan smiled. “You did not know that he came here because of you?”

“I was not aware of exactly _what_ Trunks was up to,” he said before letting out a small breath. “But I am . . . not unhappy that he is here.”

And truly, he wasn’t. This was far from where he pictured finding Trunks, but to know that in some other life and time, that his son would be a true prince . . . it gave him a feeling of warmth and . . . contentment.

“So you do not plan to take him?”

Vegeta blinked at the question before raising a brow. “Of course not. If he is content to remain then I am content to leave him be.”

The king nodded thoughtfully before stepping forward. “Good,” he said as his hands came up towards the older prince. He hesitated a second before cupping Vegeta’s face between his palms. “Let me look at you.”

There were . . . emotions there that he’d never seen in his father—a sadness that Vegeta never could have imagined. Trunks had to have told them what he’d prevented—what Vegeta’s fate had been in his own timeline.

He’d done his best not to look too closely at the younger version of himself that had walked with them through the palace, but how could he have missed the regal uniform or the glossy tail. He held himself no differently than Vegeta had all his life, however there was little doubt that this Vegeta was nothing like him.

He wondered vaguely what it had been like to live as a prince, to grow up surrounded by people and subjects loyal to him and his family. He’d had nothing during his youth—only Nappa who pushed him past his breaking point until he was strong enough to stand on his own and Raditz who’d been good at acting the part of a saiyan, but in the end, the loss of their planet had destroyed something in him.

“It is . . . good to see you alive . . . father,” he said after a few seconds of silence.

The king snorted and his hands fell away. “Yes, I do find being alive to be an agreeable state for me.”

Vegeta looked around the large cavernous hall. It was mostly the same, but changes had been made over years as the palace had expanded and the throne room along with it. He’d seen the massive complex that had risen up around the palace—government buildings with the royal house firmly seated at the center.

“Still fucking with the nobles?” he asked offhandedly.

The king chuckled. “Always,”

Vegeta smiled before his mind returned to the point of his visit. “And Trunks . . . how is he?”

His father tilted his head consideringly. “Your son is an exceptional young man—perhaps a bit more passive than the average saiyan, but also far more intelligent and thoughtful.”

The younger saiyan nodded. “And his power . . .”

How much stronger had his son gotten? His musculature had definitely improved since the last time Vegeta had seen him, but physical strength had little bearing on the power they were capable of wielding.

The king pursed his lips in thought. “I’ve yet to see the full extent of his power. We witnessed the power of the super saiyan when he killed Frieza. I know there is more, but he hasn’t shown us anything past that.”

Vegeta mulled over _that_ bit of information before turning and walking away. The king followed a few step behind him. The servants that saw them were no doubt startled to see the king walking behind anyone—let alone some long lost brother that had suddenly appeared—but Vegeta found that he cared  little for the tediousness of royal protocol.

His father had said that they’d be in the informal dining room and he used the broken bits of his memory along with his senses to locate Kakarot—both of them. The prince entered the room a few moments later, only to swallow in disgust at the sight of two Kakarots completely pigging out together. Servants ran back and forth between them struggling to keep up with the massive amounts of food being consumed and dirty dishes being produced.

He spotted the other Vegeta looking on in revulsion as well and snorted as he looked over at Trunks. His son was seated further down the table, but he was entirely too close to—to _Raditz_ . . . that scent . . . his eyes narrowed as he approached them.

He ignored the king’s entrance into the room, his eyes on the pair. They were speaking in hushed tones but saiyan hearing made it easy to hear them anyway

“—You just ran out this morning. I’m the Red Guard captain and you’re a prince. You can’t just leave like that.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was—I was really surprised to feel him, and my emotions got the better of me.”

Vegeta raised a brow as came to stand beside Trunks. His son’s eyes widened as he abruptly stood up. Raditz followed suit swiftly afterwards.

“Why do I smell this third-class on you?”

Silence settled over the entire room as even both Kakarots paused their eating to pay attention to the answer to the question. His son’s face flushed hotly and indeed now that Vegeta was standing close to the pair, he could smell _Trunks_ on Raditz as well. He’d never picked up such an intense mingling of scents on his son or Mai, and they’d seemed fairly serious about one another—enough so that Vegeta had given his approval of the match.

Trunks looked like he was about to say something, but the guardsman beat him to it, moving around the table to stand before the prince. “With all due respect, your highness, I am classed as an elite and currently serve the royal house as captain of the Red Guard.”

The prince scrutinized the other saiyan, his eyes narrowed. Raditz had never risen above his low-class origins in his timeline. He’d also never spoken up in any situation—more concerned with survival than anything else, but . . .

Vegeta thought back to the man he’d known—a shell of a saiyan who’d cared little about anyone or anything, until he’d discovered the coordinates of the planet his brother had been sent to. The prince remembered feeling vaguely disconcerted when Raditz had come to him and asked permission to find his brother. There had been a spark that he’d never seen before—a flare of interest in something besides being paid for their next mission. In the end, that interest had killed him, which had only reinforced Vegeta’s notion that caring about something was a one way ticket to the next dimension.

But seeing Raditz now— _this_ Raditz was entirely different. He wore the Red Guard uniform like a second skin and spoke with purpose and confidence. He stood on equal footing beside one prince while talking back to another.

But most strikingly . . . he met Vegeta’s gaze without fear or shame.

The prince felt his lip curl up into a smile. “I see,” he said before his eyes turned back to Trunks and he abruptly changed the subject. “What’s this I hear that you’re not showing them your full power?”

Trunks reared back as though he’d been struck. “Father, I—”

“Are you not training?” Vegeta asked, cutting him off.

His son nodded hastily. “Yes, of course, but I can’t—not here.”

The prince contemplated his son’s words. Trunks was hiding his power—not to jealousy covet it, but to prevent anyone from having any knowledge—and thus an advantage—over him. Vegeta practiced the same on occasion when fighting new opponents, but he never hid himself.

He nodded in understanding. “I would see if you’ve improved from the last time I beat you down.”

Trunks swallowed before leaning in slightly. “I’ve risen above even the level that I was with Zamasu.”

Vegeta couldn’t help the swell of pride that rose up. Kakarot’s own get had yet to even meet the power he’d once possessed when he’d fought Majin Buu. Gohan had thrown his training aside for the sake of scholarly pursuits, and while the prince vaguely understood the need for earthlings to ‘make money’ to support themselves and their families, he’d been so disgusted by the half-breed’s complete abandonment of his saiyan heritage that he’d started spending more time with his own son, educating the boy on the history of his people and training him.

Bulma seemed to think it was sweet while Vegeta merely refused to allow for his children to one day find themselves in the same position that Gohan had been in when Frieza had shown up on Earth. Trunks had exercised incredible power when he’d fought Zamasu—a blend of the god power and something else.

“Oh?” he asked after a moment, “You’ve achieved blue?” And wouldn’t Vegeta enjoy rubbing _that_ in Kakarot’s face. His son shook his head and the prince nearly slumped in disappointment before the young man spoke again.

“Something . . . something different.”

 _Different?_ Was it ultra instinct? For a fraction of a second, excitement filled him, but then he really _looked_ at Trunks. His son didn’t seem proud or happy, he seemed . . . ashamed.

“Show me,” he said slowly.

Trunks’ lips tightened as he looked around the room before shaking his head. “Not here.”

Kakarot—his Kakarot—spoke up from the table, his mouth still partially full. “We can go to King Kai’s planet if you’re concerned about doing it here—probably break all their scouters if we go too far, huh?”

Trunks shook his head. “Not enough room there. I usually use the hyperbolic time chamber, but this might be a bit much even for there.”

Kakarot pursed his lips. “Why don’t we go to the Supreme Kai’s place, then.”

His son looked thoughtful. “I knew the Supreme Kai in the other timeline, but there’s never been any cause to meet him here.”

Kakarot tilted his head thoughtfully, tapping his chin with a finger. “He’s pretty laid back, though. He probably won’t mind if we just drop by.”

With that Kakarot got up and walked towards them.

Trunks shook his head. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea—”

Before he could finish, Kakarot had reached out and Vegeta had been around the buffoon long enough to know that when he got an idea in his head, there was little anyone could do to dissuade him. He also knew the other saiyan’s movements better that he knew his own, so when Kakarot’s other hand started to form the familiar two-finger gesture, the prince immediately reached out and grabbed hold of his shoulder.

And with that, they disappeared from Vegeta-sei.

 

* * *

 

The grass of the Land of the Kais was the same somewhat off shade of green that he remembered. He stepped away from Goku and looked around the serene landscape of rolling hills and gentle wind. He blinked as he easily spotted the Supreme Kai standing alone under a tree watching them.

They were expected, apparently.

“Where the hell are we?”

Trunks turned and realized that Raditz has somehow made the trip as well. “The Land of the Kais,” he said gravely.

“Kais?” Raditz echoed with a furrowed brow.

He nodded. “The gods that control the birth and flow of life for our universe reside on this plane of existence.”

“There is no such thing!”

“I beg to differ,” the Supreme Kai said softly from behind him. Trunks turned and found the tiny creature only a few feet of him. Raditz seemed more than a bit unnerved by the fact that he obviously could feel no power level from the being before him.

“Supreme kai,” Trunks said hesitantly.

The kai inclined his head in respect towards him. “I had wondered when you would finally make your way here,” he said softly.

The half-breed felt his brow furrow. “You know me?” he asked. He hadn’t had any dealings with the gods any higher than Kami—for good reason.

The pale-haired being blinked serenely. “How could I not know the man who prevented Majin Buu from being resurrected? I have been watching you for quite some time.”

Of all the things Trunks thought he’d hear—or wished to hear—that was perhaps the least welcome.

He grimaced. “Does anyone else know?”

The kai tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Trunks did his best to control the snarl that welled up to the surface. “Did you see me do this on the godtube?”

The kai reared back in surprise. “You are familiar with the godtube?”

“Unfortunately so.”

The kaioshin’s expression flattened. “If you are worried about being watched by the kais—they do not engage in interfer—”

Trunks took a step forward, his voice low. “Did _any_ of them see?” he asked, knowing that the others were watching him closely.

Shin hesitated for a second before replying. “Because you did not engage in a lengthy battle, it was not even recorded,” he said before crossing his arms. “I received all kinds of teasing from the other kaioshin after your easy defeat of Babidi and his minions and quick dispatch of Majin Buu. They all thought I had been blowing smoke all these millennia about that monster.”

Trunks all but slumped in relief before Vegeta spoke up.

“Are we going to fight or not?” he asked loudly.

Trunks looked around before swallowing. “Is this place protected from others?”

Supreme kai raised a brow. “From godtube, you mean?”

“Yes, and can others sense our power here?” It wasn’t a question he’d ever thought to ask before, but he was not in the business of taking unnecessary chances—not with an entire universe on the line.

The kai shook his head. “No mortals can detect the existence of this plane unless they have been granted permission by the Kais. You and your friends were granted such permission by the kai of your timeline, but no others have been given the privilege here. And as for godtube—it can not transmit the events that happen here. Gods are not allowed to spy on one another.”

The lavender-haired warrior nodded again before turning back to the others again. “Alright, I guess that’s okay then.”

“Finally,” Vegeta muttered before moving away.

Goku looked between them. “Can’t I fight Trunks, first?”

The prince snarled. “He’s _my_ son, Kakarot—train your own brat and you can fight _him_.”

“But Trunks is way more powerful than Gohan!” Goku said, his voice tinged with a whine.

Vegeta’s smug smirk nearly engulfed his face. “Yes, he is.”

Goku seemed entirely crestfallen to not only have to sit on the sidelines, but also to be reminded that Gohan hadn’t kept up with his training. Trunks would admit to being shocked to see Gohan looking so weak.

The older half-breed had come to the conclusion that he didn’t need to fight anymore—that just living a normal human life would make him happiest. Perhaps that was true for Goku’s sons, but it would never be true for Trunks. He would never stop fighting—preparing for the next enemy that came to kill them all.

He would be strong enough to face them . . . he had to be.

“Are you ready, boy?” Vegeta asked as the golden glow of the super saiyan engulfed him.

Trunks allowed his power to do the same and his hair rose up in response. Energy crackled around him as he took it to the next level and then to his rage form.

“Wow!” Goku exclaimed from the sidelines.

Vegeta was none-too-impressed as he powered further himself, the blue energy from before easily recognizable.

“You said you went further!” Vegeta called.

Trunks said nothing. Instead, he launched himself at Vegeta. They moved faster than most could see, punches and kicks reigning down on one another. He’d been stronger than his father’s blue form before, but he rarely utilized this form for training—a mistake, it seemed. While perhaps he was more powerful than his father, Vegeta was clearly far more comfortable fighting in his blue form.

This rage form was cumbersome—not physically, like the incomplete second form, but it was _bursting_ with energy. Without a target, part of his concentration had to be focused on keeping himself _contained_. He fired on his father multiple times, but nothing landed. Vegeta on the other hand, continued to land physical attacks, rattling his focus and causing random discharges of energy.

“You have more than this!” his father growled out. “I know you’ve pushed further than this _miserable_ form!”

His brow furrowed as his gaze inadvertently slid to Raditz. “I can’t!”

Vegeta landed another solid blow, forcing his head to snap back and he tasted blood.

The attack was accompanied by and roar. “If you don’t, I will _drag_ you back home—you’ll never see Kakarot’s brother again. He’s long dead in our timeline.”

Trunks shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The older man bared his teeth. “Then show me that you _alone_ are capable of protecting this entire universe!”

With that Vegeta threw another punch and Trunks felt a cool calm wash over him as the fist moved towards him in slow motion. His eyes fell shut as power suffused his very being and he did not yell or scream with this transformation. It was almost natural for him to be in this form. By the time he opened his eyes again, he’d caught his father’s fist and was looking at the man through the grey gaze of his own godly form.

He could see the shock written all over the prince’s face. “That . . . that color . . .” Vegeta breathed.

Trunks didn’t respond. Instead he moved faster than Vegeta could track and threw his own punch into the prince’s face. It landed and the older saiyan went flying down towards the ground. The explosion that accompanied the landing would be heard for miles around.

He floated mid-air, looking down towards where he could feel his father. He hadn’t actually hurt Vegeta and he knew it, but that hadn’t been the point. If he’d wanted to hurt his father, he would have sent a massive blast into the prince’s unprepared face.

A simple punch was nothing.

Vegeta eventually floated back up to meet him, his eyes moving over the familiar coloring, but there was no shame or hatred in his gaze, merely curiosity.

“And how did this come about?” the other man asked.

Trunks shook his head. “I don’t know. This is equivalent to your super saiyan blue, I think, but it’s—it’s obviously different. I don’t know why it’s like . . . like _him_.”

Vegeta crossed his arms. “You’ve been hiding this because you are ashamed. Never be sorry for being powerful.”

“Am I not . . . not tainted?” he asked quietly.

Vegeta approached him and his blue energy dissipated. Trunks did the same, his pale pink hair dropping back into lavender.

“You are my son,” The older saiyan said quietly. “You been through hell and come out of it the better man—the more powerful warrior.”

Trunks swallowed. “But it cost me everything.”

“No,” Vegeta said with a shake of his head. “That evil _destroyed_ everything, but you are far too powerful for him to be a threat to you now.”

“If not him, then someone else.”

Vegeta's head tilted as his eyes narrowed in understanding. “I see. You’re obsessed with hiding your power so that others aren’t encouraged to become stronger so they can defeat you. Not terribly saiyan-like.”

“Too much has happened for me to take any chances,” Trunks answered, unable to meet his father’s eyes. “I can’t risk another universe for the sake of my pride.”

If Vegeta was bothered by the subtle jab, he didn’t show it. That had always been the point of contention between them, after all.

“Alright, my turn!” Goku called as he kicked off from the ground. He let out a dramatic roar as he went straight to super saiyan blue. Trunks briefly met Raditz's gaze as his lover watched from the ground. He stood there stiffly taking in the immense power of the three saiyans before him. It was a power that he was certain that Raditz could hardly fathom.

His lover’s expression was closed off, though. He seemed entirely aloof from the situation, but Trunks could read apprehension there. He nearly pulled out of the fight to check up on the other saiyan, but Goku was already coming at him. Vegeta joined shortly thereafter and Trunks was forced to power back up to rosé to keep up with them. The three of them fought for what seemed like hours, but in reality, barely fifteen minutes had passed before Trunks had fired a blast powerful enough to throw Vegeta back and then subsequently went after Goku.

He wasn’t sure how to feel when it became obvious that Goku couldn’t keep up with him and the other saiyan was also cast down into the ground. He hovered in the air for a few seconds before coming back down and landing in the grass. Vegeta approached him, his body suit and armor heavily damaged from the blast, but he was far from unhappy.

The prince actually smirked at him. “Are you sure you do not wish to return home with us? We could fight like that every day.”

Trunks looked over a Raditz before shaking his head. “You have your own life there—your family. I’ve made mine here.”

“Suit yourself,” Vegeta said just as Goku crawled out of the massive crater he’d created in the landscape with his ‘landing’.

“Man, we really need to train harder,” he said, rotating his shoulder and possibly popping the joint back into place. “I can’t believe you’ve gotten so strong, Trunks.”

“How many years has it been for you?” Vegeta asked.

He blinked at the question. “What?”

“Since Zamasu. You don’t gain this kind of power overnight. How many years of training has it been?”

Trunks bit his lip, thinking over the years on Earth, but also the time spent in the hyperbolic time chamber. “Just over ten, I think.”

Vegeta nodded. “You’re still far ahead of what I achieved at your age.”

The lavender-haired saiyan blushed at the compliment. “Thank you . . . Father.”

“I bet you’d be even stronger if you had someone to train with,” Goku said, with no subtly.

The dark-haired prince rolled his eyes. “Kakarot, you are not staying here just so you can get a few more sparring sessions in with my son.”

“But there’s probably no one else around that nearly strong enough to give him a good fight,” Goku said before turning to Raditz for confirmation. “Right?”

The other saiyan blinked in confusion at the question before sputtering out an answer. “There is only the God-King.”

Goku and Vegeta were silent for fraction of a second and Trunks felt his lips thin. There was no God-King in their timeline, it seemed.

“God-King?” Goku echoed, suddenly very interested.

 _Shit_ , Trunks thought as he hurried to cut off the excitement brewing in Goku’s gaze. “Jiren doesn’t like to fight,” he said quickly with a shake of his head.

The name had an effect that Trunks hadn’t expected. Recognition.

“ _Jiren_?” Vegeta asked, eyes wide. “He’s here?”

The half-breed looked at Raditz for a second before turning back to his father. “You know him?”

The older said crossed his arms. “We fought him in the Tournament of Power not long ago. No one called him a God-King, but he was incredibly strong. It took all of us to defeat him.”

Raditz raised a brow. “But you _did_ defeat him—and if the pair of you did, then he’s not as strong as Trunks.”

“We don’t know that,” Trunks said quickly.

Raditz waved him away. “That’s probably why he sought your hand in marriage—he was afraid of your power.”

Goku froze while Vegeta’s arms, suddenly broke apart in surprise.

“That—that grey slug wanted to _marry_ you?” the prince asked, his nostrils flaring, and Trunks wasn’t sure how to react the shock on the other man’s face.

Goku scratched the back of his head in confusion. “Wow, I didn’t think he had it in him to uh . . . ya know . . . like anybody.”

Trunks suddenly felt mildly ill. “Oh my God! Can we _not_ talk about this?”

Goku started laughing, while Trunks shook his head in exasperation. “Anyway. The people back on Vegeta-sei are probably having kittens by now so we should head back.”

Vegeta nodded before turning to Goku. “We will go back to Earth and take the ship back to our timeline.”

The lavender-haired warrior tilted his head in confusion. “Don’t you want to see the planet?”

The prince hesitated before he eventually shaking his head. “That’s the past for me—I’d rather not dwell on it.”

Trunks nodded sadly. “I understand, but if you decide to come and visit, you’re always welcome, Father.”

The saiyan prince nodded. “Let’s go, Kakarot.”

“Alright,” Goku said a bit sadly. He waved at Trunks and Raditz as he put his other hand to his forehead and Vegeta rested his hand on the taller saiyan’s shoulder.

Then they were gone.

Trunks stood there with Raditz for a few seconds before turning to the supreme kai. The tiny creature had been silent during their exchanges—merely watching them and observing the fight and the interaction with interest.

“I’m sorry about the land,” he said, gesturing behind him at the brutalized landscape.

The kaioshin shrugged dismissively and waved a hand. The field was instantly returned to its former pristine state.

“I understand why you came here and if you wish to do so again, my domain is open to you, Prince Trunks.”

The half-breed nodded. “Thank you.”

The kai looked like he was about to say something else when he suddenly shifted unnaturally—as though a shudder had racked his body and he’d never experienced such before.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concerned over the strange phenomena.

“No,” Shin said softly swallowing in horror. “No one is.”

The air seemed to drain from his lungs. “What—what do you mean by that?”

The supreme kai looked up, his gaze apologetic. “You succeeded in hiding your power the greater universe at large—from those that dwell in the mortal realm and even the gods of other universes.”

Trunks nodded, hearing the ‘but’ coming with more than a touch of apprehension.

“Others that are . . . connected to this plane can still sense you even here. I’d thought that no one of note would notice . . .”

He really didn’t like where this was going. “But _someone_ has.”

Shin hesitated before speaking softly. “I felt the awakening of Lord Beerus.”

Trunks felt his jaw drop open as his eyes widened. “Wait _what?_ He’s not supposed to awaken for another decade.”

The supreme kai licked his lips anxiously. “Perhaps just your power wasn’t enough catch his attention, but with Vegeta and Goku as well . . .”

Trunks cringed. “Shit,” he said softly. He’d been so careful for so long. He hadn’t even thought Beerus would become an issue for a long time to come.

“Who is Beerus?” Raditz asked.

The kaioshin grimaced. “The God of Destruction for this universe.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing!” the said said, balking.

“He sleeps most of the time,” Trunks answered with a sigh.

Raditz looked away. “And he awake now . . .”

Trunks eyed the other man and the strangely hollow tone of his lover’s words made alarm bells sound in his mind. Raditz seemed lost in his thoughts, his eyes on the otherworldly landscape but still somehow unseeing.

“Let’ go home, Raditz,” Trunks said swallowing uncomfortably.

The dark-haired saiyan didn’t respond but Trunks didn’t wait. He nodded once a the supreme kai before grabbing his lover’s wrist and putting his own fingers to his forehead. Within the blink of  an eye they were back on Vegeta-sei. His brow furrowed as he took in the color of the sky. It had been mid-day when they’d left but the rust-red sky was painted with shades of orange and violet.

Sunrise . . .

He turned to Raditz. “We’ve been gone a while,” he murmured, and their return seemed to have finally shaken Raditz loose of whatever had held his attention. He too looked up and around.

“I need to report in,” Raditz said with a nod and pulled his wrist away.

The prince blinked and before he thought better of it, his hand shot out and stopped the other man from leaving.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

The dark-haired saiyan blinked, his expression vacant. “Nothing,” he said, once again pulling himself free.

Trunks shook his head. “You’ve been off since the fight. _Something_ is wrong.”

His lover wasn't focused on anything but the door leading into the palace. “I just said, it’s nothing,” he repeated.

“If it was nothing, then you would be able to meet my eyes.”

Raditz _did_ look up then and Trunks felt his stomach drop as the other man said nothing else and turned back around to leave. The prince lifted his hand, wanting to call out, but he couldn’t find the words when his heart hurt so badly and this new dimension of reality set in. Trunks felt all expression wash away.

His own lover was afraid of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is about 7K so took a bit longer to edit. TT_TT
> 
> And just want to make it clear that in this timeline Trunks is NOT more powerful than Jiren for very specific reasons that will addressed later in the story—and maybe in that Jiren/Trunks AU I was talking about before. None of them were more powerful than Jiren in the other timeline, either. As they said, it took a whole team of them going after him to finally win.


	38. Chapter 38

Prince Vegeta stood in the throne room looking over the seat that would one day be his. He imagined himself seated there before his eyes moved to the smaller chair off to the side that was reserved for king’s official spouse.

He and Bulma had been carrying on their affair for nearly five months now. He’d wondered in the beginning if he’d tire of their relationship. Women had never been his forte—not saiyan women and especially not human women, but saiyans as a general rule liked their partners strong, both in personality and in physicality.

Bulma wasn’t physically powerful—although she had taken well to a few lessons he’d given her on occasion in order to shore up her ki and keep her from feeling the effects of the planet’s gravity. But what she lacked in strength, she made up in personality. She screamed at him when he was being too overbearing, she shoved him when he was in her way, but she also pulled him closer when she wanted something.

And he liked it. A lot.

He hadn’t found her physically attractive at first, and even now on occasion he looked at her and wondered what the draw was. But then she’d stop whatever it was that she was doing and look at him. She’d smile and he’d feel something foreign—something that churned uncomfortably within him.

He swallowed as he looked at that chair. Would she sit there beside him one day? Would their children surround them in a sea of lavender hair? Trunks carried the mark of his human mother, but would all of them? He found it hard to imagine having children—heirs to the saiyan race—with hair and eyes the color of the rare oasis.

“Hey Vegeta!”

The prince rolled his eyes as Kakarot came to stand beside him. 

“I’m not interested in sparring right now, Kakarot.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re in brood mode.”

The prince snorted before looking up at the other man. As much as it pained him to admit it, even if only in his own mind—he liked Kakarot. An opponent of worthy and vast power who had no ambitions to try and usurp Vegeta’s place. He was a rival, but not an enemy.

It was something that he’d never thought to seek out let alone find.

“What do you want?”

Kakarot smiled. “Well, Chichi kicked me out of the house cause today she wants to go over Gohan’s studies and she says I’m a distraction.”

“They why didn’t you go to the training grounds?” the prince asked with a roll of his eyes.

“Well . . .”

Vegeta shook his head. “Spit it out!”

“The other saiyans keep saying weird stuff to me when you aren’t around,” Kakarot said, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably.

The shorter saiyan blinked in confusion. “They  _ dare _ to insult you?” he asked dubiously. Kakarot hadn’t undergone re-testing, but he’d revealed himself as a super-saiyan not long after Vegeta’s own ascension—though the prince had had to beat it out of him.

“Uh no. Kind of the opposite.”

Understanding dawned on him. “They’re making  _ passes _ at you?”

_ That _ fell more in line with the calculative lust he’d seen in various nobles whenever they went to the training yards. None dared to approach when the prince was around, though he supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised that they tried to make a move when Kakarot was left unattended.

The guardsman shrugged. “I guess that would be about right. I don’t get it though. I have a wife—I said as much.”

The prince snorted. “Most saiyans don’t practice monogamy, let alone marriage. They won’t necessarily understand that you’ve chosen one person to be with. Usually only royals and a small percentage of nobles engage in the practice.”

“Oh,” Kakarot said thoughtfully. “I probably shouldn't mention any of that to Chichi.”

Vegeta looked the other man over—looked at him not as a saiyan with a mate, but as a simple man. Kakarot was . . . well he was exactly Vegeta's type—he was  _ every _ saiyan’s type, truthfully. Politically connected, unimaginably powerful, and dim enough to not use either of those qualities against his lover.

If Kakarot had come to Vegeta-sei first . . .

He looked away, his eyes making their way back to the throne—specifically, that second seat. Kakarot’s father, Bardock, would soon occupy it. Everyone in the palace knew that the king had wasted little time in re-establishing their relationship once the third-class had entered the palace once more.  His father was also watching Bardock’s family closely. Turles had been neatly removed, and Raditz was now well ensconced in the palace hierarchy—as was Kakarot and his family. If Bulma hadn’t been here . . .

Vegeta looked back at Kakarot and several threads of the king’s plans—ones that stretched far into the future began to reveal themselves. He swallowed, wondering if he would bend to those plans when the time came or if he would stand alone.

He shook off the thought. “Whether you mention it to her or not is your own decision, but while you are easily able to disregard their offers, you should know that other houses will soon begin to approach you about arranging a match with Gohan.”

“Gohan?” Kakarot echoed in bafflement. “He’s a little young for that, isn’t he?”

The prince let out a chuffing noise. “Your boy is  _ eight years old _ and has already tested into the  _ super elite class _ . You are also a close relation of Bardock. The noble houses will be eyeing him and they will push their offspring towards him.”

“Is everything about politics around here?”

Vegeta laughed. “Physical power will always reign supreme but those without it must use other means to secure their position. Your family may not have ever sought the heights they reached, but they’re there now. Those saiyans that approached you wanted something from you and they’ll eventually approach Gohan seeking the same.”

Kakarot didn’t seem to know how to take that statement but before he could further voice his opinion, he felt something. The prince had yet to learn how to sense power levels but he knew enough about the schedule within the palace to know what was happening

And  _ who _ had just arrived.

“Who is that?” Kakarot breathed out.

Vegeta turned to him. “I realize that I don’t treat you as a normal palace guard, but from now on, we  _ really _ need to work on your retention of information regarding what goes on within the palace.”

Kakarot scratched his head sheepishly. “Aw, come on Vegeta, you know I don’t get involved in all that stuff.”

He  _ did _ know. How Kakarot was blood related to Bardock and Raditz, he couldn’t fathom. If not for his appearance, he’d have questioned his sparring partner’s origins. The man acted far too much like Trunks and Bulma with his carefree peaceful attitude, but he lacked their keen intelligence.

Except when it came to fighting—that was pure saiyan obsession.

As it was, he rolled his eyes in a very un-princely manner. “That is the God-King,” he said after a moment before turning around and walking towards the exit.

“God-King?” Kakarot echoed as he followed. “He’s stronger than a super saiyan!”

Vegeta halted abruptly before whirling around. “There is no one stronger than a super saiyan!” he growled out.

Kakarot raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean it like that, but he’s clearly very strong—”

“Of course, he is, but he was also enamored with Trunks, and as I have proven, I am more powerful than the half-breed.”

Kakarot pursed his lips as though he was thinking deeply about something—a rare sight—but he said nothing in response, so the prince turned back around and made his way out of the throne room. The God-King would be disembarking soon and the king had asked for the prince to personally greet the Andromeda leader. Trunks was  _ supposed _ to have done this, but he’d yet to return from wherever the hell it was that he’d gone.  And that was another revelation that had kept him awake during the night. That man that had resembled him so strongly—the man Trunks had looked towards with an almost worshipful smile . . . the man he’d called  _ father.  _

A Vegeta from another timeline that had whisked the youngest prince from the palace along with another Kakarot. The Kakarot of this timeline rarely left his side and it appeared to be much the same with his doppelganger.  As soon as he reached the courtyard, he spotted the transport that was to be used to ferry Jiren from the private landing pad back to the palace. He looked at it for a moment, eyeing the carriage of the vehicle with disdain. 

The last place he wished to be was in a metal box moving at a fraction of the speed he was personally capable of.

“Head to the pad without me!” he called before kicking off from the ground. Kakarot followed closely behind him as they flew the relatively short distance to the pad. He landed smoothly, his cape fluttering behind him in the wind of the open area. 

Techs and workers moved diligently around the platform, some stopping to formally bow if they were able, while others kept themselves focused on their tasks. Behind him, the transport caravan glided up, servants and assistants spilling out to make sure the platform was set up properly in anticipation for the God-King.  It wasn’t long before the weurlan spacecraft began making its landing. It was bigger than he’d expected—one of their battle cruisers. The air blew by him in a wall of heat that had others shifting, but he was unmoved.

As the ramp lowered, several of the servants bowed shallowly in deference to their guest. They’d hold that position until the God-King left the platform. He watched as the darkness inside the ship eventually gave way to the massive hulking form of the God-King. He was dressed in black as usual, but rather than his customary red accents, his grey skin was further highlighted by the pale  _ lavender _ embroidery that slithered around his neckline.

_ Son of a bitch, _ he thought even as he kept his face impassive. Jiren approached, followed by his extensive entourage, and Vegeta kept his body completely still.

The God-King eventually came to a stop, his large dark eyes moving over the platform. “Where is Prince Trunks?” he asked flatly.

The prince felt the skin beneath his eye twitch at the  _ insult _ . “Welcome to Vegeta-sei, God-King,” he said, his voice carefully even. “We are pleased that you’ve come  _ yet again _ to visit us.”

Jiren’s dark eyes moved back to his. “Your king informed me that if I wish to have Prince Trunks as my grand consort, that I must convince him of this, myself. I have gone to great lengths to set aside time for this purpose so I’ll ask you again:  _ Where is Prince Trunks?” _

He vaguely heard Kakarot swallow behind him. He wore no scouter, but he could  _ see _ the faint red glow that had begun to envelope the God-King. Jiren was  _ angry _ that Trunks wasn’t there to greet him.

His mind blanked out as thoughts and memories of the various powerful beings that had passed by over the years, came rushing to the foreground. Frieza had been able to destroy worlds, but Jiren . . . Jiren was said to be so powerful that he could wipe out entire _systems_ with barely a thought.

“Prince Trunks is not the  _ only _ super saiyan around!” he blurted out suddenly for lack of anything else to say.

The red glow instantly vanished as Jiren tilted his bald head. “Oh?”

The prince nodded emphatically. “I have ascended as well and defeated him in combat.”

If he thought to somehow impress the weurle, he was sadly mistaken as a small smile appeared and the God-King seemed almost amused.

“I see. Congratulations on your victory,” the God-King said softly, but there was  _ feeling _ there as well. Something about this revelation actually made the grey sentient . . . happy.

Vegeta blinked in confusion and he hated the heat he felt rising to his cheeks. “Th—thank you.”

“Now where is he?” the God-King repeated.

The prince’s lips thinned. “He’s not planet-side at the moment.”

“I  _ know, _ ” Jiren said with a thinly veiled sneer. “However I spoke to King Vegeta only two days ago and, at  _ that _ time, Prince Trunks was here awaiting my arrival—and now he is  _ not _ . I begin to question whether your king was being sincere in his wishes to form a union with Andromeda.”

Vegeta knew for a fact that Trunks was in no way interested in the God-King—he was entirely too smitten with Raditz to even give Jiren a second glance. The king had to be aware of this as well. He’d all but encouraged the relationship as a way of keeping Trunks on the planet indefinitely.

“I’m sure my father wishes for a . . . lasting peace between our two empires,” He said diplomatically. “As for Trunks, he left yesterday for a training excursion—he will be back soon.”

At least he  _ hoped _ Trunks would return soon. Vegeta didn’t honestly think Jiren would do anything to the saiyans—if for no other reason than because he clearly cared about ingratiating himself with the half-breed. The prince tried not to think about the fact that Jiren appeared entirely disinterested in him despite his power being on par with Trunks now. Everyone knew that it was Trunks’ power that had drawn the God-King to him, but the lack of interest from the God-King in Vegeta . . . there  _ must _ have been something else.

Not that Vegeta was at all interested in Jiren, but it was the  _ principal _ of the thing. Why should Trunks have the complete attention of the Andromeda God-King when he’d been  _ defeated _ by Vegeta?

Questions for another day, he supposed as he led Jiren away from the platform and towards the transport. Kakarot followed closely behind—staying silent for once in his damn life. He knew the other saiyan was watching Jiren intently—almost assuredly debating whether he could get away with asking for a spar.

Just as they were about to get inside the transport, Jiren shifted and paused. His head turned towards the imperial palace and Vegeta silently declared that he was going to get Kakarot to teach him this damn ki sensing thing. He turned to the guardsman and Kakarot leaned in.

“Trunks is back,” he said softly, but he needn’t have bothered, apparently, because Jiren lifted off the ground without a word and took off towards the palace.

Vegeta sighed as he once again took in the transport. “Waste of damn credits,” he muttered as he to kicked off the ground and followed behind the God-King. Others in the entourage followed as well, keeping a respectful distance from the prince, but their eyes never left their leader.

Trunks was standing in the same courtyard he’d left in three days ago. Raditz was there beside him and words were being said before the dark haired saiyan abruptly spun around and walked away. Jiren landed along with Vegeta and Kakarot while the other weurle kept away, choosing to either float high up in the air or else land on empty balconies and roofs.

Trunks was standing there, his arm slightly raised towards Raditz before he finally realized what was going on. He whirled around and saw Jiren standing there along with Vegeta and blinked in confusion.

The prince’s immediate reaction was to demand where Trunks had been—where his future counterpart had gone? These words were kept to himself, of course. He’d already embarrassed himself before the God-King enough.

“Prince Trunks,” Jiren said as he approached the youngest saiyan prince. Trunks looked quite tired and his clothing was torn and burned in several places—hardly fitting attire for a prince greeting a galactic monarch.

The weurle didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, however. “I worried that this trip would be for naught and that I would not see you.”

The half-breed quickly got ahold of himself. “I—I apologize, Go—Jiren. Where I was . . . time flows differently there.”

Jiren nodded in understanding before reaching out and taking one of Trunks’ hands in his own. The prince's previously pristine white glove was ripped over a few of the fingers and Trunks' bare skin was visible—as was the way Jiren’s own fingers moved over those bared areas. Vegeta raised a brow as he looked from the point of contact to Trunks’ flushed face with confusion.

Jiren blinked his large dark eyes before speaking again. “Were you training because of that power?”

Trunks’ head tilted and his eyes looked almost glazed as he allowed the God-King to continue holding his hand. “You know about that?” he asked softly.

“When an entire galaxy is wiped out by an unknown power—people tend to notice.”

The lavender-haired prince nodded. “I’ve felt it, but it’s disappeared entirely.”

Jiren sighed. “Power like that does not simply vanish. It finds a new place to consume—but you know this, of course.”

Trunks looked away and seemed to finally realize that his hand was still being held by Jiren. He pulled his fingers free but Vegeta hardly cared about that. 

“A  _ galaxy _ was wiped out?” he asked abruptly, and the half-breed looked over at him as if just now noticing his presence. 

Trunks hesitated before responding. “I . . . four months ago, a power burned so brightly that it could be felt in from another galaxy. Soon after . . . there was nothing. It had destroyed everything.”

His lip curled. “There are billions of planets in a galaxy. How can anything have destroyed it all?” he demanded.

Trunks looked up and met Jiren’s eyes. “It’s not unheard of.”

Vegeta felt his eyes go very wide as Jiren didn’t dispute the claim.

“And you think it’s coming here?” he asked.

Trunks shook his head. “I don’t know. Like I said, it vanished.”

The God-King took a step forward. “You worry for your people—I understand that as I do the same. I came here because of it. Together . . . Perhaps you and I would be enough.”

The younger prince swallowed, his lips tightening. Vegeta felt his insides freeze as he realized the full implications of the statement. Jiren was not here to simply spend time with Trunks and woo him. He was here to seal a contract for the youngest saiyan prince using the one thing that Trunks couldn’t say no to.

Protecting the people he loved.

Trunks apparently figured out the same thing because he eventually shook his head. “I can’t give you what you want.”

Jiren’s typically stoic face showed his irritation at the statement for only a fraction of a second before it smoothed out again. “Because you have already settled for the guardsman?” the sentient asked flatly.

Trunks froze. “I haven’t ‘settled’ for anything—”

The God-King cut him off harshly. “He is your first and so far  _ only _ male lover. I assure you, I lack nothing in _any_ area of comparison with him.”

Vegeta suddenly felt he should be looking away—perhaps even leaving. The conversation was rapidly developing into some kind of lover’s quarrel that the prince felt uncomfortable to be witness to. If the sentient had been _anyone_ but the God-King of Andromeda, he would have quickly done so. Trunks could handle himself with most enemies, but Jiren wasn’t like anyone else.

And if the God-King decided to  _ push _ the issue of Trunks going back with him to Andromeda . . . Vegeta wasn’t about to leave the younger prince  _ alone _ with him.

Color rose to Trunks’ cheeks. “How the  _ fuck _ do you know that?”

The entourage around them all moved slightly at the sight and sound of their God-King being spoken to in such a manner, but Jiren’s rather visible apathy towards the situation had them staying in position.

“His reports about you and your . . . relationship were rather detailed—at least in the beginning. He’s gotten closed-lipped about it the last few months. I did not decide to make this proposal to you on the basis of a few rumors about your power and personality.”

Trunks’ face looked almost ashen as Jiren spoke—and had Raditz’s betrayal rubbed in his face. “Whatever you read—whatever he wrote—you  _ don’t _ know me,” the half-breed said after a moment.

“No . . . I have only observed you through the lens of his feelings towards you. I am here because I want to know you—as I wish you to know me. You are meant for greater things than to be the forgotten youngest prince of the saiyans. It is painful to witness you burying yourself so deeply—and for what? To spare the feelings of those that should by rights be  _ worshiping _ your power?”

Trunks’ eyes slid away from Jiren and met Vegeta’s. The half-breed blinked those human blue eyes at him before looking away with a shake of his head.

“I don’t need to be worshiped—I don’t want it,” the prince said, his expression seeming to lose all life. “You and I . . . we’re not right for each other because everything that you are—it’s everything that I don’t want to be.”

The God-King bared his teeth uncharacteristically. “Because you’ve _never_ experienced it! The other prince has ascended—the tether that bound you to this world has slackened. Come with me to Andromeda—just a visit, nothing more—I will show you what it means to be a god amongst a galaxy of people.”

“I don’t want that—I’ve  _ never _ wanted that. Do you honestly think that I couldn’t—” Trunks bit off whatever it was he’d been about to say, his lips thinning angrily. “I know why you’re here, but it’s not going to happen. It will  _ never _ happen and I’m sorry you wasted your time making the trip.”

Trunks gave the God-King one last parting look before he turned and walked away. Jiren stood still within the courtyard until Trunks was well inside the palace and long out of sight. Vegeta was about to say something when Kakarot suddenly reached out and wrapped an arm around his middle, pulling him back.

“Kakarot!” Vegeta growled out, looking back at the taller saiyan but his guard shook his head frantically, his eyes never leaving the weurle’s form. Vegeta looked back and saw what had spooked his companion.

The red glow of Jiren’s anger had returned and even the other weurle that had come with the God-King were shifting uncomfortably. He immediately looked back towards the palace but Trunks didn’t come back out.

_ Shit. _

“We can take him,” Vegeta said lowly.

If he’d been expecting Kakarot’s agreement, he was bound for disappointment as the other saiyan tightened his hold on the prince and pulled him further away. Vegeta managed to free one of his arms and rammed his elbow into Kakarot’s side. The former third-class immediately released him and Vegeta let out a startling yell as he powered up. 

He looked back the other saiyan. “Pull yourself together, Kakarot!”

“We need Trunks!” 

“The fuck, we do,” he hissed before launching himself at Jiren. He landed a punch to the side of the God-King’s face and expected some kind of movement—a recoil, a flinch—anything. But there was nothing. No indication that Jiren even realized that it had happened.

His eyes were wide and his jaw dropped open. “What?”

The God-King shifted and it was Vegeta’s turn to flinch, expecting some kind of retaliation. But nothing happened. Instead the red glow faded and Jiren sighed.

“We’re leaving,” he announced. “I will not suffer the humiliation of rejection any more.”

With that, Jiren turned around and took off into the air. His entourage followed close behind him as he headed back to the landing pad. Vegeta tailed them along with Kakarot and he could see various guards on the ground below them holding broken scouters.  The group landed on the landing pad and Jiren began making his way back towards his cruiser.

“I will find whoever it is that you have spying on us,” Vegeta yelled at the retreating man.

Jiren paused his movements and for a fraction of a second, the prince was filled with regret for his inability to keep his mouth shut when nervous. 

The God-king turned back around and walked slowly towards him. “Spy?” he echoed as he came to a stop in front of the prince.

Vegeta swallowed as he looked up and met the eye of the gargantuan sentient. “Whoever gave you Raditz’ reports—I will find them and I will kill them.”

“You are that eager to be king, then?” Jiren asked with a placid blink of his large eyes.

“What?”

The God-King shrugged dismissively. “I have no spies within your imperial government—nobody high enough to send me reports for your king’s eyes only, anyway . . . no, your father was the one who gave them to me.”

Vegeta shook his head. “That’s . . . why would he do that?”

Even as he asked the question, he  _ knew _ . King Vegeta might have been more sentimental than the average saiyan, but he was still a king to his people. A union between the saiyans and Andromeda would secure their empire for  _ generations _ to come. 

Jiren seemed to understand Vegeta’s thoughts. “Your father, for all that he claims to be as unfeeling as any other saiyan . . . he  _ knows _ people. He can read a person’s emotions and intent with  _ irritating _ accuracy. The guardsman’s reports . . . they were a story of a man who was damaged but still beautiful, who was powerful but still loyal, and who was hollow for many years, but still couldn’t help but fall in love.”

The prince was taken aback by Jiren’s words. “You . . . you truly care for him.”

The grey sentient smiled. “King Vegeta sought to dangle a one-of-a-kind treasure before me. Perhaps he hoped that your half-breed prince would choose me or that I would be so besotted that an alliance could be secured with Andromeda without a union. Unfortunately, he was wrong on both counts.”

“If this power comes here—you would let him die?” Vegeta asked quietly as his mind inevitably turned to Bulma. If she was ever in danger . . .

The God-King was silent for a few seconds as he thought over the scenario. “There is a lesson to be learned when one allows one's pride and personal desires to outweigh the greater good. I would not risk the safety and protection of _my_ people for  _nothing_ , and Prince Trunks . . . he will need to realize that his own people—the people of this Milky Way galaxy . . . their lives are worth more than the fleeting affection of a guard.”

“But he would die in defense of us—and you would still not have him,” the prince said, knowing the truth. The things the half-breed had _already_ done . . . he wondered how much of it Jiren was aware of.

“You're right, of course,” the God-King said lightly. “He would die, but death . . . it's hardly an end—not for people like him.”

Vegeta's brow furrowed. “He . . . he is powerful, but he is _only_ a half-breed.”

Jiren's face split into wide smile and the prince felt his heart lurch in terror at the sight. “ I can say that in this galaxy or the next—there is _no one_ else like him.” The malicious smile faded into a bitter reflection. “ It is a strange feeling—to realize that there is something outside of my grasp. I can give Prince Trunks  _ anything _ his heart desires.” Jiren trailed off as though fantasizing about all the things he could have done for his would-be grand prince. “Gods of Destruction fear my power, you know . . . but it’s not enough.”

Vegeta said nothing. What could he have said to that? He watched as Jiren walked back towards his battle cruiser. The other weurle moved in closer one by one, eventually forming two perfectly straight and symmetrical lines behind the God-King.

He went aboard and within the minutes the doors were shutting and the ship was lifting off. He stood there long after the ship was gone from his sight with only one thought.

_ What the hell is a God of Destruction? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jiren really is one of my favorite characters—at least the way I've written him. He has like no character development or even _character_ at all in Dragon Ball, so it's fun to get to do so much with him here. So far, he's been sort of weaving in and out, but this isn't the last that we'll see of him.
> 
> I'm a little irritated with myself. I'd meant to add in some dialogue in the last chapter between the supreme kai and Trunks about this galactic big bad that's coming, but I completely forgot. T_T It's not super important to the story or anything, but I like to have those kinds of details in there.


	39. Chapter 39

Admiral Renkon of House Shiso was a rather imposing man standing nearly as tall as Raditz with his thick spiky shaved close on either side of his head and the top pulled back in a tight bun. It was an unusual look for a saiyan when most wore their natural spikes as a symbol of their pride in their race.

His house was one of the most ancient of their people, if Trunks remembered correctly—tied closely to the royal house. Renkon, himself, was Trunks’ second cousin. Renkon was relatively young for an admiral as well, but he’d apparently risen quickly through the ranks as the war against the arcosians dragged on.

“Will you continue to stare at my back or will you say something, Prince Trunks?”

The prince flinched back as he looked away. He hadn’t been expecting to find the man half naked on the training level when he’d entered. The Vigilant had yet to even launch—there would be a few more days of final checks before it would be ready to officially join the ever expanding Saiyan Imperial Fleet. He’d been under the impression that there was only a skeleton crew aboard for now, so finding the admiral already there was a bit of a surprise.

“Apologies, Admiral,” Trunks said as steadily as he could as the man turned around. His eyebrows were relatively thin for a saiyan, especially the one raised in amusement.

“None of that,” the admiral said with a snort before walking over. “I suppose you weren't expecting me to be here.”

Trunks shook his head. “No, I . . . I was just looking around the ship—the Vigilant, that is. I wanted to familiarize myself with it before launching.”

The man nodded absently as he walked over to the side of the room and picked up a shirt. He pulled the thin fabric over his head and Trunks was greeted with the sight of trim muscles moving under golden skin.

He swallowed and looked away. The man walked forward, his head tilted in curiosity until he was only a few feet from the prince. Trunks heard the sharp inhale and the humming sound of Renkon before the man stepped forward again.

“I’d heard that the prince was having an affair with one of the Red Guard, but I’m surprised at your choice.”

Trunks felt his eyes go wide. “What?”

The admiral shrugged. “Raditz is a fine saiyan, but he doesn’t usually stick around a single partner for very long.”

The prince felt his eyes narrow. “You don’t know anything about us—”

“I know that I was Raditz’s rank lover for several years until he became an elite and no longer needed me, so I’d say that I have a fairly good understanding of the man.”

Trunks blinked. “You? And Raditz?”

“Yes,” Renkon said simply before a smile curled upon his lips. “Is that a problem?”

The half-breed pressed his lips together. So this admiral had had sex with Raditz—so what? He’d known from the beginning that Raditz had a rather sexually adventurous past and he didn’t care—especially in the face of some hotshot admiral who was trying to get him off balanced by throwing his lover’s sexual history in his face.

“Not a problem at all,” he said evenly. “I was merely surprised. Raditz had told me about many of his past exploits—the ones worth mentioning, anyway—but your name has never come up.”

Renkon’s eyes narrowed before an amused smile passed over his face. “Raditz has always been one to play things close to the vest—no need to speak of the many stepping stones he has trod upon to finally make it into the bed of a prince.”

The lavender-haired warrior wasn’t entirely sure of the angle the other saiyan was aiming for, but he’d be damned if he just stood there listening to the man badmouth Raditz.

“I’d say that you’re doing enough speaking all on your own—and about things that really aren’t any of your concern,” he said before making a dismissive gesture. “I’ve heard that you lobbied heavily for command of this ship . . . it would be a sad state of affairs if you were abruptly removed for whatever reason I care to think up.”

Renkon grimaced. “You may be a prince, but not even you can have me removed.”

Truthfully, Trunks had no idea if he could follow through with his threats or not, but he wasn’t about to let even a shadow of a doubt show on his face.

He snorted derisively. “You’d be surprised what a doting uncle would do for their favorite nephew—what the king would do for the _savior_ of the entire planet.”

The admiral watched him for a moment before stepping back. “Understood, Prince Trunks,” he said evenly.

The prince allowed a wide smile. “Good. I’m glad we came to this understanding. I expect we’ll have a long and productive working relationship.”

“Of course.”

Trunks nodded before turning around and walking out of the training room. He heard the door shut behind him and within seconds the admiral powered up perhaps to his highest level in what was probably a very spectacular display of power.

 _Nowhere near that of a super saiyan, but impressive nonetheless,_ he thought.

No one approached him as he left the ship and took a small cruiser back to the planet. The Vigilant really was impressive from space, but even with the astonishing view, his thoughts were elsewhere. Raditz still hadn’t entirely gotten out of whatever funk he’d been in since they’d returned from the land of the kais. He still spent his evenings in Trunks’ chambers, but they’d hardly touched one another since, much less made love.

Renkon was a miserable ant and the prince hated that his words had sprouted doubt within Trunks’ mind. He’d said that Raditz rarely stayed with a single lover for very long. Was his lover slowly pulling away from him?

As much as he wanted to ask Raditz about it, he was set to leave within the next few days and the last thing he wanted to do was spend his limited time grilling the other man about his exes.

He sighed as he brought the cruiser in for a landing. He easily hopped out of the cockpit as tech swarmed the ship and began walking across the platform before taking off into the air. The trip to palace was only a few minutes and he didn’t bother landing in the main courtyard, but rather headed directly for his own balcony.

He was in the mood to blow off some steam and so he quickly changed out of his usual attire and hung the cape up. He pulled on his training clothes easily and headed out towards the training yards. If he was lucky, someone would decide that he was weak now that Vegeta had defeated him and they would come looking for a sound beating.

His hopes were dashed as he entered the elite training yard and found the alarms going off.

“Alert. Please shut down all model C-690 or older scouters.”

Trunks rolled his eyes as he eyed the other saiyans that hastily turned their little devices off lest they blow when Vegeta and Kakarot went super saiyan.

“Come to see a real super saiyan, half-breed?” one of them asked as he slid within Trunks’ personal space. Trunks only blinked as his arm moved and his knuckles hit the saiyan leaning over him, in the face.

The elite went flying, and Trunks didn’t bother looking back.

* * *

 

“Seems Trunks isn’t terribly fond of the admiral assigned to the Vigilant,” the king said as he entered his chambers. Bardock was already there, sitting at the desk that he’d taken over for himself. The king said nothing about losing the bit of furniture. His lover was quite busy catching up with the things he’d missed in his absence.

“Why is that?” Bardock asked, though his tone was entirely disinterested.

Vegeta slid his eyes over Bardock. “Admiral Renkon has always been quite . . . tenacious when it comes to Raditz, hasn’t he?”

The scribbling abruptly stopped. “Renkon of House Shiso?”

“The very same.”

Bardock turned to face him. “What in the name of the Great Ancestor possessed you to assign Prince Trunks to that man’s ship?”

The king bit his lip as he turned away, ostensibly to pull off his gloves and place them on a side table, but in reality to delay his answer and think up a good lie. Renkon was an arrogant saiyan who barely showed any deference to the king himself.

“If Trunks is truly serious about Raditz, better that he deal with these nuisances now. He was bound to find out about Renkon sooner or later.”

Bardock scoffed. “You’re full of shit, Vegeta.”

He shrugged and came clean. “Trunks is the only person who can put that little bastard in his place. He’s not interested in the throne and isn’t involved in politics so he doesn’t have to watch his words around the nobility. He can also wipe the floor with Renkon.”

“That man is a fucking parasite—”

Vegeta turned back around. “Yes, but a parasite that is very good at his job. Trunks will learn a lot from him, and if he can deal with Renkon then he can deal with anyone.”

“He’s made no secret about how bitter he still is that Raditz left him,” Bardock said with a grimace.

The king blinked lazily. “Yes, they were all but mated for almost a decade, but Raditz walked out on him the day he re-tested into the elite class—can’t imagine why Renkon would be holding a grudge.”

Bardock narrowed his eyes. “Neither one of us know exactly what went on between Renkon and Raditz behind closed doors, but let me tell you this: you know Raditz and you _know_ what Renkon is like.”

His lover was right, of course. He did know Raditz. He knew him as a capable and loyal saiyan who was so devoted to Trunks that he’d offered to leave the Red Guard and even the planet if that’s what the prince desired.

And he also knew Renkon. A noble only a few generations removed from the royal house. His grandmother was the older sister of Vegeta’s own father. Renkon was generally disdainful of those he saw as beneath him and arrogant to a fault.

Which is why everyone was so shocked when the casual fling he’d been having with Raditz—who’s been a second-class at the time—became something far more serious. As far as the king knew, despite Renkon’s insistence that he was merely Raditz’s rank lover, they’d both been almost entirely monogamous. Rumors had swirled on occasion of one or the other engaging in an affair or two but nothing was ever confirmed.

When Raditz finally tested into elite class—equal in power level to his lover—Renkon could no longer claim to be Raditz’s rank lover. The accepted story was that Raditz was using Renkon to better himself—to train with one of the elite and grow in strength. And when he’d achieved his goal, he left Renkon. It was the most plausible explanation and a story no one batted an eyelash at.

The only reason it was considered a minor scandle is that usually it was the _elite_ that dumped the lower-class warrior. It was the _elite_ that took advantage of someone weaker. The tradition of the rank lover was technically supposed to end in this way—a mentorship that ran its course when the weaker warrior had learned all they could from the stronger man or woman, but the reality was that it was rarely used that manner.

Usually it was simply as a way for the classes to mingle with one another without judgement or side-eye, but it rarely lasted . . . and most certainly didn’t lead to the pair _living_ together. The king remembered seeing Raditz at the various ceremonies when Renkon had been moving up the ranks—he remembered the way they had moved through the room together—nearly a matched set with their similar height, build, and coloring. He remembered feeling mildly jealous of the way Renkon could—and did— touch Raditz with a sort of affection . . . in public. After a few years had passed, most had come to believe that once Raditz made elite class, then they’d commit to an official mating.

But that hadn’t happened. No one knew exactly what was said or done in the few hours between the re-test and Raditz’s exit from Renkon’s posh apartment carrying his things. Perhaps Raditz really _had_ been using Renkon, but no one could be sure. The noble had never spoken to anyone about it, but if he’d truly been wronged—he’d have been spilling his guts to anyone that would listen.

And while Raditz had taken a string of lovers before finally engaging in a relationship with Prince Trunks, Renkon had never seemingly moved on. There had been a short lived engagement with one of the many Leekin daughters immediately following the separation but that had only lasted a few months before the girl had called it off. Since then, he’d thrown himself into his duties building up the saiyan military. Renkon still occasionally spoke derisively of Raditz even after almost fifteen years, but never anything specific—never anything that anyone could actually use against the Red Guard Captain.

The king shrugged. “It hardly matters. Trunks will be on the Vigilant for his first mission and that’s Renkon’s ship. Renkon, despite his many character flaws, is a consummate professional when he’s on the job. They’ll make it work.”

“And if something happens?” Bardock asked dubiously.

“Trunks can take care of himself.”

The scientist shook his head in disdain. “You really can’t help but mess with people, can you? I thought it was just me, but it’s everyone around you, isn’t it?”

Vegeta finished undressing and didn’t bother pulling on his night clothes. He stood entirely in the buff beside the bed, his gaze heating up. His mate swallowed at the sight of him but didn’t look away.

“People become complacent if they aren’t poked occasionally. If I didn’t keep pushing, would Trunks be a respected prince? Would Raditz be captain of the Red Guard? Would you be here in this room with me?”

“Ah, it’s all for our own benefit,” Bardock said with a snort.

Vegeta approached the other man until he stood just beside Bardock. He reached out and ran a hand through the geneticist’s coarse dark locks.

“Oh, it’s _entirely_ for my benefit, but I make sure there are some perks that come with going along with my plans,” he said before leaning down and taking Bardock’s mouth with his own. His mate moaned into the kiss, the pen dropping from his hand onto the desk.

Bardock made to get up, but the king pushed him back. His hands moved over the closures on the front of the oversuit before they pulled the grey jumpsuit apart, baring Bardock’s belly and lower half to the room. He never let his eyes leave his mate’s as he leaned down and took the other man’s cock into his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short, but the last couple chapters were pretty long so hopefully that makes up for it.


	40. Chapter 40

**_Vegeta-sei Orbit - Age 765, October 30_ **

The Vigilant was a beautiful ship. 

Raditz wasn’t fond of space travel, but he could see that duties aboard this vessel were unlikely to be much of a hardship for the crew. It was well known that the king was using this ship as a proving ground for Bulma Briefs’ new and retrofitted tech. Her capsule technology had been integrated into almost every nook and cranny of the ship. Most vessels, military or otherwise, were limited in terms of any kind of luxury by what could fit aboard versus what was needed.

The Vigilant had just over ten thousand unmanned drone bombers lining the walls of the hangar, all safely ensconced in their capsules. Many ships were also limited in their ability to remain untethered due to availability of resources such as foodstuffs and other vital everyday needs.

Bulma’s tech now allowed the saiyan ship to stay entirely self sufficient for more than a decade, never requiring a refuel or restock. Raditz was aware that other ships were being modified to include aeroponic labs that utilized space to _grow_ food that otherwise would have been used to store the many tons of food and fuel normally required to maintain a decent living standard.

Few saiyans were still disdainful of the human woman and her contributions to the Saiyan Empire—fewer still would say anything when she reeked of the prince’s scent. 

Trunks and Prince Vegeta hadn’t spoken much since the half-breed’s ‘loss’. They occupied the same room on many occasions including the large entertaining room aboard the space station where the Vigilant was docked, but they might as well have been on opposite sides of the planet.  Raditz had heard more than a few whispers here or there about Trunks being sent away now that he was no longer needed by the royal family. Trunks had to have heard them as well, but he let nothing show on his face. It really got under Raditz’s skin to hear them say such derogatory things when only a few months ago they’d been falling all over themselves in thanks for his saving of all their lives.

. . . and then there was rosé. That powerful form that had trounced the Vegeta and Kakarot of the other timeline.

Raditz knew he’d been distant with Trunks since he’d witnessed the transformation, but he’d been feeling just . . . very overwhelmed by the knowledge of what his lover was capable of doing. He was  afraid. He’d never experience fear, but the idea of something being so massively powerful that it could have defeated the super saiyan _blue_ fighters caused something within him to shrink in fear.

None of these sycophantic nobles who sneered behind their glasses could even comprehend the power of the youngest prince.

They’d bought into the story of Prince Vegeta’s victory without question or doubt.  It disgusted him and yet he understood that beliefs long held were harder to break than even the strongest of stone. It was simply easier to accept that a full-blood saiyan was stronger than a half-breed.

“I’m needed here, but would you do me a favor?”

Raditz turned and met Trunks’ eyes. He'd accompanied the prince at the other man's request, but they'd said little to one another for the last few hours.

“Of course,” he said agreeably. “What is it?”

“I left my comm unit in the side room—the once we had drinks in an hour ago.”

The dark haired saiyan nodded in understanding. They’d been waiting in there for the presentation of the Vigilant to begin.

“I’ll go back and get it,” he replied. “I’ll leave it in your quarters and then head back to the planet.”

Trunks’ eyes narrowed and Raditz couldn’t meet his gaze. He should stay for as long as he could—it would be months before they saw one another again, but he couldn't help but feel suffocated. The weight of Trunks’ secret—the disappointment in the lavender-haired warrior’s gaze made him feel ashamed. He felt so much pride in his lover and yet so discouraged because of Trunks’ pathological need to hide everything about himself . . .

. . . Even from Raditz.

He stepped away from the prince and left the ballroom. There were eyes on him—eyes on the way he and Trunks seemed to be at odds. His fists clenched by his side in anger. It shouldn’t be like this but he had no idea how to fix it.  The guardsman trailed down the empty corridors until he eventually entered the side room. His eyes searched the area for the prince’s tiny comm unit, but his attention shifted as he heard the door open again behind him.

“I’m surprised you came here—even for the prince.”

Raditz froze at the sound of the familiar voice. He grimaced, knowing that he’d tempted fate and lost. 

He turned around to face his former lover. Renkon had changed quite a bit in the last fifteen years. His once long hair was shorn at the sides and pulled away from his face in a tight bun. He and Renkon had always been of similar height and build but it seemed that he’d gotten wider across the chest in the intervening years.  He looked very much at home in the white admiral’s uniform, but unlike most others, his arms were barred—revealing a rather livid burn scar across his forearm. Raditz couldn’t help the way his eyes riveted over the puckered and discolored flesh.

_ “I would pay for you to have your scars removed,” Renkon had whispered. _

_ Raditz shook his head. “Why would I want that? They are a memento of everything that has tried to kill me and failed.” _

The red guard captain looked away—unwilling to even acknowledge the scar’s existence.  “I needed to see Prince Trunks off,” he said simply.

Renkon tilted his head. “I remember you seeing _me_ off during my first missions.”

“We’re not having this conversation,” Raditz growled out as he turned to leave, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“If not now, then when? You’ve avoided me for over a decade!” Renkon hissed out.

The guardsman shook the offending hand off him. “Because there is nothing left to say. You made it clear back then what we were to one another,” he said before his eyes moved down to the scar. “And I made it clear what I thought of that.”

The admiral's lips thinned. “Things are different now—”

“Why?” he snapped out. “Why are you coming after me now? We’ve both moved on—”

Renkon snarled, cutting him off. “Because you’re with him—that filthy half-breed!”

Raditz let his eyes flatten. “That’s a royal prince and the planet’s savior you’re speaking of.”

“Like I give a shit,” the other man sneered. “He’s barely even a saiyan with that hideous purple hair of his—how can you lower yourself to mingle with him?”

“I fucked  _ you _ for eight years, didn’t I?”

Renkon came at him, pushing him back against the wall and the guardsman knew that there would be cracks in the surface around him.  “I won’t be insulted by a third-class whore—”

Raditz didn’t allow him to finish before an energy ball formed in his hand and he sent it into Renkon’s side. The admiral was hurled back away from him, his uniform badly damaged and his skin burned similarly to the scar that graced his arm. 

“That shit stopped working the second my power-level surpassed yours, Renkon. You rarely ever trained then, and it looks like nothing has changed. I’m many times stronger than you, now.”

He turned to leave, but paused when Renkon spoke again.

“Stop . . . please.”

The guardsman felt his brow furrow and he blinked in confusion before turning back to face the admiral.  Renkon was pulling himself up off the ground and leaning heavily against the wall opposite him. His hand was clutching at his side, but an hour in a regen tank would take care of the wound.

“I know I fucked up. With that Leekin girl—with everything, but I thought . . .”

Raditz whirled around.  “ _ What _ —what did you think?”

“I thought you’d come back to me eventually.”

The Red Guard captain let out a noise of disbelief. “Why in the name of the great ancestor would you think that?”

Renkon swallowed audibly, but his words were soft. “Because I’m the only one you showed your . . . your defect to—the only person you’ve ever trusted enough to—to be vulnerable with. I know you’ve kept all your other lovers at a distance. You wouldn’t risk your position and reputation by letting on that you . . . feel.”

After Renkon, Raditz had never exposed so much of himself again—not until . . .  “But now I’m with Prince Trunks,” he said in understanding.

The other man licked his lips. “I’ve seen the vid records—I’ve seen how he looks at you. He—he has the same thing as you, doesn’t he?”

Raditz didn’t entirely understand the biology behind the differences in his brain and those of other saiyans, but he nodded. “Humans pass on that particular trait to their offspring.”

The statement seemed to break something further in the other man. “I swear, Raditz,” he said as he took a step closer. “I swear it won’t be like it was before. It’ll just be you—you and no one else.”

The guardsman shook his head. “It’s too late, Renkon—years too late.”

The admiral slumped down and Raditz hated that he somehow felt pity for the other man. He picked up the comm unit that sat conspicuously near the door and resolutely turned away and left the room.  His stride was unhurried as he made his way aboard the ship and towards the prince’s quarters. The ship would officially leave port in a few hours so he needed to drop the datapad off and leave the ship quickly.

The prince should have still been at the celebratory gathering, so Raditz was surprised to feel Trunks’ power level in his quarters. He’d intended to leave the datapad in the drop slot, but instead, he hit the chime.  The doors slid smoothly open and the prince stood facing away from the door, and instead he was looking out into space from the viewport opposite the entry. Raditz stepped inside and heard the soft whoosh as they were closed off from the corridor.

“Is it settled?” Trunks asked.

Raditz set the comm unit down on a side table. “You knew he would corner me.”

“I knew he couldn’t take his damn eyes off you during the entire presentation and even during the gathering,” Trunks said as he turned to finally face the Red Guard captain. “You’ve never talked about him, but others have told me that you two were—were inseparable for years.”

He grimaced. “He and I—we weren’t right for one another. He couldn’t give me what I needed no matter how hard he tried—and the harder he tried, the more frustrated he became.”

Trunks nodded as he stepped forward until their chests were nearly touching. His hands came up to cup either side of Raditz’s face. Their eyes met as they leaned in close but they didn’t quite kiss.

“I know it’s been hard for you lately,” Trunks murmured. “Since you saw me.” Raditz tried to shake his head but Trunks stopped him. “It’s okay to need some space. What I am . . . I get that it’s a tough pill to swallow.”

The saiyan sighed. “You’re so powerful—I can hardly fathom that such power even exists, much less that you are in control of it. You  _ hide _ the fact that you could wipe everything out.”

Trunks tilted his head, his eyes sad. “If I revealed it, things would change—and not for the better. I maintain this power, but unless I’m forced to, I won’t ever show it to anyone else.”

“You wouldn’t have even revealed it to me if I hadn’t been there,” he said, knowingly.

Trunks nodded. “I . . . I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t meant keep so many secrets from you, but it’s hard. You and I . . . we don’t have the most . . . traditional history. It’s second nature to keep things close.”

Raditz looked up. “I’ve already told you— _promised_ you—that I would keep your secrets. Is it that you don’t believe me?”

The prince hesitated before responding. “I . . . I’ll try to do better, but . . . I can’t leave with you hating me like this.”

“I don’t hate you Trunks,” Raditz said, his chest filling with pain. “I could never hate you, but perhaps some space would be good for us.”

He’d never seen heartbreak on another saiyan’s face before . . . until that moment.  The prince swallowed but nodded. He leaned in and his lips brushed against Raditz’. It was soft and far more chaste than any other kiss they’d ever shared.

“I’ll be back in a couple of months for Chenai,” Trunks said. “I don’t think it’ll affect me like it does other saiyans, but . . .”

“I’ll be here waiting,” Raditz said in response before pulling away. They didn’t say goodbye, instead Raditz gave a deep bow of deference to his prince before leaving Trunks’ quarters. He nodded to several saiyans as he made his way off the ship.

Within a few hours, the ship and Trunks were gone.

 

* * *

 

####  **_Jensi Asteroid Belt - Age 766, November 19_ **

Things were tense aboard the ship. The crew had sensed the friction between himself and Renkon from day one and the gossip aboard had already pretty much hit the nail on the head.  Renkon was the jilted ex-lover of the man Prince Trunks was currently seeing. There were many malicious rumors—some of which made little sense. Raditz hardly could have dumped Renkon for Trunks if they hadn’t even known of each other’s existence so long ago. 

He shook his head as he worked his way through the mountain of datapads that materialized on his desk every morning. While he was the royal liaison to the admiral and the military at large, he was still learning.  It had only taken one instance of Renkon commenting on his lack of knowledge about the ship he was on for him to devote hours of each day to learning about the ins and outs of not only the Vigilant but other heavily used ship classes.

He’d not been embarrassed again. 

Trunks shook the thought away as he continued to read and make notes over the strengths and weaknesses inherent in the Nagaimo class ships when an alert sounded over the ship-wide system.

“Emergency Alert: Prepare for jump to ALS.”

He looked out towards the viewport as the planet they’d been orbiting vanished into the pitch darkness of accelerated light speed. They weren’t due to leave planet Cirut for another day. He hadn’t been consulted either, which mean it really was an emergency. 

“Prince Trunks, please report to the bridge immediately.”

He got up without answering and left the room. His stride was swift as he made his way to the lift and within moments, he was entering the bridge. The open space was quiet as various officers spoke over the comms to different departments and other ships in the vicinity.  Renkon was standing beside the central railing looking over a datapad. The low light of the bridge reflected off his mirror-like black boots and the white of his uniform made him stand out like a beacon amongst the din.

Trunks approached him and whatever personal issues they had dissolved as the admiral was all business. 

“One of our mining colonies is under attack by the arcosians. We are set to arrive there in six minutes. Reports say it is only a single ship, but that only means that one has revealed itself. There could be others waiting.”

The datapad was handed over and Trunks scanned the information. “I was under the impression that our mining colonies were cloaked.”

“They are. Whatever intelligence leak is the cause of the attack will be investigated once the situation is resolved. The Guardian will be arriving approximately thirty seven minutes after we do and we can either wait for their arrival before engaging the arcosians or we can go in for a direct attack.”

Renkon looked at him, clearly expecting a suggestion on their course of action. The colony had minimal protection and their shields weren’t designed to withstand a continued assault. It would be destroyed if they waited. He also looked over the specs of the attacking ship. Not one of the more powerful arcosian cruisers but it wasn’t a light weight, either.

He hummed before speaking. “It would take the empire months to rebuild the compound if we allow it to be destroyed, nevermind the personnel that would be lost and the hit to imperial moral that we stood by and did nothing while one of our sites was destroyed. I say we attack directly and at least led them away from the colony.”

Renkon nodded. “Agreed,” he said before turning back to the bridge crew and giving out orders. “Bring us about but keep a distance of at least five coles between the Vigilant and the enemy ship at all times. As soon as we drop out of ALS, target their weapons systems and fire the scorch missiles.”

“Sir!” they called as they worked with efficiency and Trunks reached out and held onto the railing as the ship dropped out of accelerated light speed. The vessel moved quickly towards the edge of the asteroid field and Trunks spotted the arcosian vessel as it continued to fire on the mining colony.  As ordered, the officers relayed instructions to the weapons department and torpedoes were fired within seconds towards the enemy ship. The arcosians immediately stopped attacking the colony and moved out of the way. They weren't fast enough, however and the missile blew out one of their sail-like side compartments.

“Sir, three ships inbound! Not ours!”

Renkon looked over towards the prince before looking away. “Bring us about and exercise evasive maneuvers. Get us away from them until the Guardian arrives.”

“Guardian ETA is thirty two minutes,” someone said.

The new ships were the same class as the other, and as soon as they were in range, they began firing on the Vigilant. He felt the ship shake upon impact and various officers called out damage reports on multiple decks as Renkon directed the crew on tactics.

“Focus fire on their weapons systems—disregard engines until all three have been incapacitated.”

Trunks continued to watch as scorch missiles and blaze flares were targeted at each ship one by one . . . but not before the last craft wiped out the Vigilant’s engines. The ship jarred back and forth and Trunks gritted his teeth as the admiral continued to bark out calls for information.

“Crew status!”

“Sixteen crewmen lost from the ship. Fifteen successfully deployed gel suits.”

_ So only one casualty, _ Trunks thought. The fifteen survivors could be recovered if they were found within the next twenty minutes.

The ship shuttered again as they took another hit.

“Take out their damn weapons!”

“Weapons system targeted.”

“Fire!”

Trunks watched as the missiles flew from the ship and hit their target on the last ship. He sighed in relief. The arcosians would surely leave now that they had no weapons to fire with. T he attacks stopped and the ships flew around their saiyan prey for a few moments before Renkon let out a growl.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked.

Renkon’s entire face flattened. “They’re deciding which ship will be sacrificed.”

Trunks felt his eyes go wide. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

The admiral grimaced in anger. “They wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t _know_ you were here. Arcosians can breathe in space while we can’t, so they’re going to crash one of the ships into us and kill us that way. It’s a common tactic of their species.”

Trunks felt his fists clenched. He’d read about such tactics in the the many books assigned to him while he’d been learning war strategy, but he’d never thought to actually witness it much less be the target.

“Twenty one minutes to Guardian arrival,” someone said just as two of the ships pulled away while the third powered up its engines and began barreling towards the Vigilant. 

“Fire everything we have!” Renkon called, but even if the ship was damaged heavily, its momentum would still propel it into the saiyan vessel. Trunks looked back towards the incoming ship for only a fraction of a second before he walked swiftly out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Renkon called after him. “Are you abandoning this ship?”

Trunks didn't answer. There was little time as it was. He headed for the closest airlock and hit the raised pad on the front of his uniform. A gel-like substance enveloped his body, cutting him off from the atmosphere outside. He breathed in the acidic air provided by the suit before hitting the airlock and launching himself out. He held onto the side of the ship until he saw the arcosian vessel.

His hand came up and he took a deep breath, powering up to just under super saiyan. A single blast exploded from his outstretched hand and ripped through the hull of the arcosian ship. Explosions began tearing through it and in the distance Trunks saw the other ships begin to speed away. He carefully aligned his hand and fired a much wider blast towards one and then the other.  He didn’t see the actual hits, but he did see the explosions that rippled from them.

The prince lowered his hand before he re-boarded and shut the airlock door. He allowed the gel to dissolved from him and he took a steadying breath. That had been far too close for comfort.

The comm unit sounded. “Recovery crew, launch teams one and two to survivor locations.”

Trunks sighed. If they were sending out recovery crews, then the threats had been entirely neutralized. He left the tiny airlock room and walked back towards the bridge. He was about to merely pass it by when his personal comm went off ordering him back to the bridge.

He once again, didn’t answer, but instead turned down the corridor and made his way to the bridge. He entered quickly and Renkon looked up from the datapad he was reading

“Prince Trunks,” he said evenly, his eyes moving over the half-breed’s body. “Status.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

Renkon raised a brow but didn’t press him further. Instead he looked back towards the massive view screen, his eyes on the main window that showed the wriggling white forms of a few arcosians as they moved around the wreckage of one of the ships.

The admiral's gaze slid lazily back towards him. “The arcosian survivors are regrouping and headed towards an asteroid field to hide from us. Suggestions on how to proceed.”

The bridge was silent as they waited for his words and the prince could not help the malicious curl of his lip as he watched Frieza’s people move through the destruction as though it was nothing. The same could not have been said for the over two hundred saiyans and other sentients aboard the Vigilant. 

“Give no quarter,” he said as he turned away.

“Understood,” Renkon said evenly before carrying out the orders. “Target the survivors.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALS = Accelerated Light Speed
> 
> Yeah, I'm really terrible with battles, physical, space, ect. So just bear with me on that. lol.


	41. Chapter 41

####  **_Vegeta-sei - Age 766, November 20_ **

Vegeta read over the pad, his brow furrowed as rage threatened to boil over inside him. Those damn lizards had attempted to kill the youngest saiyan prince in such a cowardly manner! While it was known that Prince Trunks had joined the imperial fleet, no one should have really known _which_ ship he was on. A trap had been laid for Trunks, and that was something that the royal family wouldn't tolerate.

If King Vegeta hadn’t already ordered a thorough investigation, then the prince would have.

His door abruptly slid open and only a small number of people could enter with just their own palm scans.

“Vegeta . . .” she said from the door.

He looked up and met Bulma’s blue eyes as he set the pad down as he stood up. She walked quickly over to him and wrapped her arms around him.

“They almost killed Trunks,” she said.

Something in her voice made him think for the barest of seconds that she knew—knew that Trunks was their son and her sadness was that of a mother’s looking out for her child. But that wasn't right. Bulma didn’t know, but he was certain that when their own child was born that this was something she’d face again and again.

He wrapped his arms around her.

“The boy is fine,” he said gruffly.

She snorted. “That boy is only a few years younger than you, mister.”

“He’ll always be the boy, no matter how old he is,” Vegeta responded uncomfortably.

Bulma managed a small smile. “I just can’t believe anyone would try to do such a thing.”

The prince shrugged. “War isn’t pretty. It brings out the worst in everyone—Even your precious Trunks ordered the deaths of the arcosian survivors.”

She wilted slightly as though the very idea of Trunks being the cold-blooded killer that he’d been for years was something she just couldn't fathom. Bulma was quiet for a while before she began to pull away. He hated how it felt cold without her. She hugged her arms to herself before biting her lip.

“The phase one contract that Capsule Corp has with Vegeta-sei is—is over. I think I’ll be going back to Earth soon. I’m going to ask Trunks to come back with me.”

The air in his lungs froze, and he fought down his more violent urges. Saiyans did not take kindly to losing things. “What?” he growled out.  You can not simply leave and—and take a prince with you!”

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy, but determined. “Trunks isn’t like the rest of you saiyans—he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but being here is bringing out the worst in him.”

His eyes narrowed at the insult and Vegeta crossed his arms. “You mean he’s acting like a true saiyan should—do you really think being on Earth will magically transform him into a soft human? He has endured far too much to ever be _anything_ like you or anyone else there. As much as it pains me to say it, the boy is exactly where he belongs.”

“Endured?” she asked, her voice taking on a note of suspicion. “What _exactly_ has he endured?”

 _Trust the woman to pick up on the slightest slip-up,_ he thought.

“You aren’t leaving,” he said rather than answering.

The woman’s brows raised incredulously. “That sounds remarkably like an order—and I don’t take orders—not from you or anyone else.”

He gritted his teeth. There were times when he like her obstinacy, but this wasn’t one of those moments. The prince reached out and his hand was over her collar bone. He pushing her until her back hit the wall.

She blinked in startled confusion. “What the hell do you think you're—”

He leaned in and slanted his mouth over hers. She struggled briefly, but as soon as he hiked one of her her legs up around his waist and ground his rapidly inflating erection against her, she let out a low groan and instead dug her fingers into his back.

He was gratified that she wore a dress today rather than those infernal shorts she usually favored. It made it far easier to rip her undergarment at the seams and bare her nether regions to his gaze. She gasped against him, her eyes hooded and heavy.

“You aren’t leaving,” he whispered against her lips before his mouth moved down to her throat. He did this fairly often, but as he ran his tongue over the soft skin there, he felt instinct kick in as the patch of skin between her neck and shoulder came into sharp focus.

If she left . . . he would be alone again.

There would be no loving mate or gaggle of half-breed children. There would be no son that was so devoted to his father that he would cross time-itself to save him. All that would remain would be the monotony of palace life surrounded by simpering nobles that deferred to him to his face while plotting to stab him in the back.

Vegeta freed himself from his undersuit did not allow himself to think twice as he sunk his teeth into her shoulder, while simultaneously pushing inside her.

“Ow!” she yelped. “What the hell are you doing?”

He ignored her surprised cries and instead focused on angling his pelvis in just the right way to maximize her pleasure and take her mind off all the reasons she had to leave him. It appeared to be working as her arms were around him and her moans echoed through the room. He felt her getting closer and closer and he smiled against her skin.

“Bite me,” he whispered.

”W . . . What?” she asked, slightly dazed.

“Bite me,” he repeated.

Her lip curled in disgust. “I’m not really—”

“I want you to,” he said more firmly and he felt her swallow before she seemed to screw up her courage and sink her blunt little teeth into his skin. He had to shove his power level down as far as he could to allow her to break the skin. At first, he’d worried that it wasn’t enough, but then he felt her respond by powering up what little ki she possessed.

And then he felt it.

The tearing of his flesh. His lips spread into a smug smile and he pounded into her harder than ever. It was done. There was no turning back.

 

* * *

 

**_Kaind - Age 766, December 3_ **

The room wasn’t quite in chaos, but there was a thread of panic as a single garbled word played over the speaker system. Trunks entered the bridge and narrowed his eyes as he heard the single word repeated over and over again.

“Destroyer . . . destroyer . . . destroyer.”

“What is that?” he asked.

Renkon turned to face him. “We received an emergency transmission from Kaind fifteen minutes ago before all communication was completely cut off.”

“From the entire planet?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

The admiral nodded. “Yes. We can’t get in contact with any one there. The entire planet has gone dark.”

“ETA?” he asked as he eyed the total darkness outside the view screen.

“Twenty two minutes,” someone said aloud.

“Are we the only ones going?” his mind running over the _last_ emergency they’d dealt with.

Renkon shook his head. “No, Admiral Allion’s division is meeting us there.”

Trunks nodded. He’d never personally met Allion of House Parasal, but the man had an entire division under his direct command. Five tamanegi classes, two shoda, and another Okura, the Sovereign carried out missions on behalf of the Empire. For him to be pulled away from his duties . . . It was a tense twenty two minutes as he thought over all of the possibilities that this would mean, but that word . . .

_Destroyer._

He hoped it wasn’t what he thought it was.

The ship eventually dropped out of ALS they were forced to take evasive action as massive chunks of debris moved through space at explosive speeds.

“What the fuck!” Renkon barked out. “Get us clear!”

The techs worked furiously to steer the massive ship out of immediate danger and Trunks held onto one of the railings as he heard transmissions from other ships as they arrived and faced the same issues. The Vigilant jerked as it was impacted multiple times, but the hull was holding. One of the tamanegi classes wasn’t fairing as well and was having to fire off its weapons just to keep from being crushed by the mountain sized chunks of rock.

“Where the fuck are we?” Renkon yelled out. “There’s no asteroid field near Kaind!”

“Sir, the coordinates match up with the system and I’ve communicated with the Sovereign. This is the right location.”

“Where the hell is the planet then?”

Trunks felt his lips thin. “We’re flying through it—what’s left of it.”

Renkon looked over at him with wild eyes before looking back at the planet. “That’s just not possible.”

“Frieza nearly did the same to Vegeta-sei,” the prince murdered as he crossed his arms.

“But you _killed_ him!” the admiral growled out.

“He’s not the only thing out there capable of destroying a planet!” Trunks snapped back.

He saw Renkon’s expression shift momentary into fear, before it dropped back into something flatter. “The arcosians then, but what purpose would they have to destroy Kaind. It’s an ally of Vegeta-sei but it’s barely more than an agricultural planet.”

Trunks tilted his head in thought. It could be the arcosians, but he didn’t feel any power levels anywhere close that could account for this kind of destruction and from what he knew of Frieza and his father’s stories of Cooler—arcosians liked to gloat. They wouldn’t just disappear after making such a public display of power.

“Admiral Allion’s division has regrouped outside the debris field. The tamanegi class ship, Gingyo, took heavy damage and they are asking for our status and whether we require aid.”

Renkon looked over his datapad. “Tell him we’re fine. Get us out of this shit and bring us to their location.”

“Sir!”

Trunks moved over to one of the terminals and he initiated a few scans of the debris field—temperature scans that would determine how long ago this had happened.

“What are you thinking?” Renkon asked from behind him and the prince turned to find the admiral watching him intently.

“Destroyer,” he said after a moment. “That was the last thing they sent out.”

Renkon grimaced. “Not exactly much to go on.”

Trunks shook his head. “It’s enough. Check to see if anyone somehow made it off the planet. I need to speak to the king.”

He was about to leave when he felt a hand come around his arm. He looked back and saw Renkon scowling at the sight of his own hand touching the prince but he didn’t let go as he raised his gaze and met Trunks’ eyes once more.

“You know what happened here,” he said lowly. Trunks blinked, noting the way the entire bridge had quieted down as the techs and officers attempted to listen in.

He hesitated only a second before giving a short nod. “Come with me,” he said, pulling his arm away.

Renkon turned to one of the other officers. “Coordinate with Admiral Allion’s division to search for survivors and address any damage before rendezvousing outside the debris field.”

The officer gave a nod and Renkon hurried after him. The half-breed returned to his office and sent out a comm signal to the king. Not even Renkon had such direct access to the planet’s ruler. He only needed to wait a few moment before King Vegeta’s face appeared on the screen.

“Tell me what’s happened.”

The prince kept his tone even. “Kaind is gone. The planet is just an asteroid field now.”

Vegeta sighed. “Cause?”

“We don’t have a conclusive—” he began, but the king snorted and cut him off.

“You would not be calling me in the middle of the night if you didn’t have something for me.”

Trunks let his eyes slide back to Renkon for the barest of seconds. “It’s Beerus.”

The king’s head tilted and his expression looked almost desperately dubious. “What? He’s been gone for decades.”

Trunks felt his lip curl. “He’s awake and it’s my fault.”

“ _How_ can it be your fault?” his grandfather asked.

The prince did his best to ignore Renkon’s presence. “When I left the planet to train with my father, we generated enough power to . . . to wake him up.”

The king sat back, his expression pensive. “If it is indeed Beerus, you need to return to Vegeta-sei immediately. Kaind was a warning, but he’ll come here next.”

Trunks nodded, hating the guilt bled through his mind. “I will be back planet-side as soon as we finish here.”

The king nodded and the connection was cut.

“Who is Beerus?” Renkon asked as he settled down into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Trunks waved his hand over his terminal and the thing retracted fully into its module and disappeared from sight.

He’d invited Renkon here with the intent to be honest with the other man. No matter their mutual dislike of one another on a personal level, they still had to _work_ together.

“The god of destruction for this universe,” he said after a moment. “He’s . . . he’s a complex individual—obsessed with power, but lazy.”

Renkon leaned back, licking his bottom lip as a less than pleased sniff escaped him. “A god of destruction . . . You royals really _have_ gone mad.”

“My human half notwithstanding, you and I aren’t _that_ far removed . . . Cousin,” Trunks said with an acerbic tone. “I’ve _seen_ Beerus—He’s as real as you and I.”

Renkon tilted his head, his expression pensive as he thought over Trunks’ words. “A god who is lazy . . .  A common sentiment of many powerful beings, it seems.”

Trunks supposed the other saiyan was right on that front. Frieza was the same—even Jiren to a certain extent. They became so powerful that no one could defy them anymore and they lost the will to improve themselves.

“Beerus is different though,” he said quietly. “He is bitter and hateful because no one can challenge him. He looks down on those that can’t defend themselves from him, but he wants nothing more than for someone to fight him as an equal.”

“An he’s _not_ a saiyan?” Renkon asked with a raised brow.

Trunks thought of the purple furred skin and large cat-like eyes and ears. “Definitely not a saiyan,” he said. “Beerus is . . . ancient. Millions—if not billions—of years old.”

“And he’s never had a challenge in all that time?” the admiral asked with a raised brow. “No wonder he’s cranky.”

Trunks snorted. “Cranky is putting it mildly.”

Renkon was silent for a few seconds and Trunks could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. “Why does the king need you back on the planet when Prince Vegeta is stronger than you?” he asked.

The prince felt his expression flatten. “Back-up, I suppose,” he said nonchalantly.

The other siyan leaned in slightly. “But you said you generated enough power while fighting Prince Vedera to awaken this destroyer god. How is it that you didn’t do so while fighting Prince Vegeta?”

Trunks sighed and his lips thinned. “I don’t have an answer for you.”

Renkon snorted and his lips pulled into a knowing smirk. “Don’t have one, or won’t give one? Because it sounds like the king doesn’t think Prince Vegeta could handle this Beerus character, but you can—and speaking of which . . . How do you know of Beerus when no one else does?”

Trunks kept his mouth shut and just looked at Renkon until the other saiyan made a sound of frustration.

“There are secrets that you’re keeping from us, half-breed,” he said, annoyance filtering into his tone.

He shook his head and looked away. “What things I choose to keep to myself is none of your concern. The king knows what is going on and that should be enough for you.”

Renkon watched him for a moment. “You know my family was set to support your ascension as crown prince,” he said slowly.

The half-breed blinked and his brow furrowed. “You hate me—why would you do that?”

“I did not say that _I_ was in support of it, but there is even less support for the king from some of the families.”

“Why?”

Renkon snorted derisively. “The king is a manipulative opportunist that _no_ saiyan would ever fully trust in. He is the king because no one else has the ability to dethrone him—no one except perhaps you.”

The prince felt his eye twitch. “I’ve no interest in the throne,” he said.

Renkon threw his head back and laughed. “Yes—yes that much is obvious, my prince. You are stronger than Prince Vegeta, but you _let_ him win . . . didn’t you. How . . . how _disgusting_ you are.”

Trunks glared at the other man. “Watch yourself, Renkon. I know the king favors you because you good at your job, but he wouldn’t think anything of my blasting you into the next dimension if I perceive a threat.”

“I make no threats, prince,” the other man said flippantly. “I only state the truth. You allowed a weaker man to best you—to strut around the imperial palace with a rank and a title he is _undeserving_ of! Only the strongest of us has the right to rule!”

“Should I have beaten him? What then? I have no desire to rule an empire.”

“Then why have you gotten so strong? If not to defeat your enemies and rise above them in domination—they _why_?”

“To protect you!” he snapped out angrily, his power level spiking. “To protect _all_ of you! I allow all you to walk—to _strut_ —to rule, because that is what you were all born to do. My place is not usurp anything from anyone. I’m only here to make sure you all have the opportunity to live—to _be_ everything you should have been.”

The admiral’s eyes moved over him in contemplation. “Our _prince_ who does not fear God-Kings and Destroyers . . . Who _are_ you?”

He met the other man’s dark eyes. “The half-breed son of prince—that’s it.”

Renkon bared his teeth as he got up and looked down at Trunks. “You won’t be able to hide forever—sooner or later, you will be forced to reveal yourself.”

The admiral began walking away and as the door to the office slid open, Trunks finally responded. “For your sake—for the sake of everyone in this galaxy . . . you had better hope that never happens.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did manage to add about 700 more words to this chapter, but I feel like I could have done a better job with it—especially with Bulma and Vegeta's scene, however I'm on a bit of a crunch. My break is over and I'm back in school tomorrow so I wanted to get this chapter out before I go back to drowning in school work. I managed to get six chapters of this story plus one for the Bardock/King Vegeta side story in the space of ten days, so I'm kind of stoked about that. 
> 
> Hopefully I won't go weeks between updates again. TT_TT


	42. Chapter 42

####  **_Vegeta-sei - Age 766, December 12_ **

Trunks was looking over the specs for the new gravity room that would soon be built—or more specifically, the gravity arena. He hadn’t been planet-side longer than a day before he’d been pulled into the science division by Bardock.

The saiyan looked good in his green uniform, and there was a calm assurance in his movements that drew eyes to him. Trunks had wondered about the other man on more than one occasion. Saiyans, unless they possessed great physical power, always carried an edge of paranoia. Their culture was one where death was common-place, and if someone wanted what you had, they could simply kill you for it. Dropping your guard could easily result in death, and few people on Vegeta-sei were ever just . . . calm. 

Bardock, though . . . the older saiyan had always had a strangely zen-like quality about him—as though he were untouched by stress or worry. Not even the king or Prince Vegeta acted like that. 

He couldn’t help reaching out and taking in the power level of the third-class. It was low, perhaps a few hundred. Trunks was aware that Goku worried for his father—worried that King Vegeta had bullied his way into a relationship with Bardock, but that didn’t seem to be the case. The science division head seemed entirely unbothered.

“Something on your mind, my prince?” Bardock asked and Trunks became aware that his gaze had left the specs and he’d instead been staring at the other man.

“Oh! Sorry . . . wandering thoughts,” he said quickly, and he was about to say something else when the door chimed. He recognized the person by their power level, and Bardock hit a button on his desk.

The door slid open and Raditz’s gargantuan frame filled the entryway. The prince smiled in greeting. Their reunion last night had been . . . eventful.

“I need to borrow the prince,” Raditz said with a raised brow.

Trunks swallowed before nodding and turning back to Bardock. “I’ll be back later to finish going over these.”

The older saiyan shot him a knowing look but nodded. “I will be here until the evening.”

The prince inclined his head in acknowledgement before leaving with Raditz.

His gaze moved over the red uniform of the guardsman. “I was under the impression that you had today off from your duties.”

“I do,” Raditz rumbled out. “I was  _ very _ unhappy that you weren't in bed when I woke up.”

Trunks chuckled. “It may be  _ your _ day off but I still have things to take care of since I’ve been off planet for the last few months—”

“I think there is only one thing you  _ need _ to do,” Raditz whispered with a leering gaze.

They were passing by a side room when a sound floated through Trunks’ ears.

“You . . .” it whispered.

Trunks halted his steps and knew Raditz had heard it too—as did the guard who stood a few paces from them. He looked towards the large open doors and felt his stomach drop. Two figures stood there in the shadows but even their vague silhouettes were instantly recognizable to the prince.

The guard was instantly on alert and was already moving towards the newcomers. “Identify yourself—”

Trunks grabbed hold of Raditz, all but shoving his lover behind him. The guard didn’t get another word out as he was disintegrated like ash.

“What?” Raditz asked in shock.

“Keep quiet, Raditz,” Trunks whispered as he fought to get his shuttering breath under control.

The shorter of the pair stepped forward, the light moving over his billowing white pants. “You are the one who killed, Frieza? Killed Majin Buu?” the creature asked.

Trunks met those empty yellow eyes. “Yes, I did.”

Beerus tilted his head, his large ears swaying the slightest bit. “You don’t seem like much, and I don’t recall ever meeting you . . . but you seem very  _ aware _ of me.”

Nothing about the statement was threatening and thankfully, Beerus seemed more curious than anything else.

“He is from an alternate timeline, Lord Beerus,” the blue man—Whis—said from beside the destroyer god.

Raditz chose that moment to try and shove past Trunks. “Prince Trunks is the most powerful saiyan alive—”

He didn’t get any farther because  _ Trunks _ whipped his arm back, striking the other man and sending him flying into the wall, knocking him out cold. Threatening or not, the prince didn’t allow himself to take his eyes away from the destroyer god. Beerus blinked as he eyed the half-breed and his subsequent actions. It wasn’t long before a lazy smile spread over the immortal’s mouth and he threw his head back and laughed. 

“Yes—yes you  _ do _ know me.”

“I do . . .” Trunks echoed slowly.

Beerus’ tooth smile melted into something far more sinister. “I just awoke from my nap, you know. I expected to hear all about how this planet was long gone—I expected to be updated on all the planets and people that Frieza has destroyed so I could continue to nap. Imagine my surprise when Whis, here, tells me that Frieza is dead—that he was killed by a half-breed super saiyan of all things . . . one that shouldn’t even exist.”

“I am the son of the king’s younger brother—” he began, unconsciously reciting the story he’d had drilled into him by his grandfather

Beerus phased from view, his hand pulling Trunks further into the side room and the doors behind him slammed shut. “You  _ dare _ to lie to me, boy?”

Trunks grimaced but said nothing.

“I did not awaken on my own—something powerful made itself known . . . A god,” Beerus said as he released his hold and stepped back.

The prince shook his head quickly. “We have no gods on this planet. Only mortals.”

“Mortality does not preclude one from divinity,” Whis said, drawing Trunks’ attention.

The half-breed scowled. “I guess that’s a matter of opinion.”

“And yet,” Beerus said with a raised brow. “You’ve been touched by divinity—your very body  _ reeks _ of its essence.”

The prince’s stomach dropped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Whis smiled. “You have been touched by divine energy—it permeates your being and makes you into something . . . other.”

Trunks blinked at the statement. Had Zamasu somehow . . . corrupted him? Perhaps that was why . . .  _ Rosé. _

Beerus watched him critically. “I see you’ve noticed something about yourself that is different than it should be. Perhaps this is why you’ve not been brought before the kais for using a power normally reserved for gods and angels.”

Trunks looked away, remembering Whis’ words from the old timeline.  “If I hadn’t . . . If I hadn’t—no one would have survived.”

“Mortals live and die all the time—” the destroyer began with an indifferent shrug.

The prince glared as he cut the destroyer off. “ _ No one _ would have survived.”

The indifference evaporated and Beerus’ eyes narrowed. “And just what do you mean by that?”

Trunks swallowed. “In my time . . . The Supreme Kai—he—”

Beerus moved faster than Trunks could see and appeared inches from his face. “What  _ about _ the Supreme Kai?”

“He was killed,” Trunks whispered as he remembered things he wished he could forget. “His death marked the beginning of the end . . . of everything.”

“ _ Who _ killed the Kaioshin?” Beerus growled out.

“You . . . you weren’t there and so when Babidi and Dabura tried to awaken Majin Buu . . . Only the Supreme Kai went to stop them . . . He was killed, but that . . . that only opened the floodgates for something even worse to come and take advantage of the—the aftermath.”

Voices began calling out from the other side of the door and there were several harsh thuds as the guards presumably began trying to force their way inside, but Trunks didn’t dare turn his face away from the destroyer god. If Beerus was affected by the notion that his own inaction and laziness had lead to his death, he didn’t show it. As it was, the destroyer continued to examine him for a moment before snorting and turning away. He strolled back towards Whis, his hand coming up to touch the angel.

“You and I . . . we will speak again,” he said before the pair disappeared.

Trunks became aware of his hammering heart right then, and he sank down to his knees. The door to the room suddenly opened and guards piled in, hands raised aloft looking for the enemy. The king followed quickly, his eyes finding the prince’s lone figure.

“What the hell was that, brat? The guard sent out a security signal but then it disappeared and the door wouldn't open.”

Trunks looked up, but before he could say something, Raditz groaned, drawing attention.

“Where is the guard?” the king continued. “And what happened to Raditz?”

“The guard is dead—erased, and I . . .”

“You cold-cocked me, you little shit!” Raditz growled out as he got to he feet.

The prince turned back to his lover. “I saved your god-damn life. Beerus would have erased you from existence if you’d succeeded in approaching him.”

Raditz sneered at him. “That cat can’t be that powerful. You are a super saiyan—no being in this galaxy can stand up to you!”

Trunks glared at the other man. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it to me!” the saiyan snapped.

“Yes, please do,” the king cut in. “What happened?”

The prince sighed. “It’s Beerus. He’s here.”

“The God of Destruction,” King Vegeta said with a nod. “I’d hoped you were wrong . . . No one’s heard from him in years.”

Trunks’ fist clenched by his side. This was all his own fault. He’d been so damn careful, but one dumb slip, just to impress his father . . . “He . . . he is a lazy god,” the half-breed murmured. “He prefers to instigate wars—allowing us mortals to destroy ourselves—and then go and nap.”

The king’s eyes swept him skeptically. “Why didn’t he kill you—or all of us?”

“I knew him . . . in the other timeline. Beerus was . . . friends with my father and with Goku.”

“Friends?” the king asked dubiously.

Trunks shrugged. “Well, as close to it as something like Beerus is capable of getting. Whis was . . . training them.”

The king’s brow furrowed as he remembered back to the last time he’d seen the god of destruction “The blue man . . .” he echoed.

The lavender-haired warrior nodded. “Beerus’s teacher. They were—they were god-like in their power.”

“My son . . . and Kakarot . . .” King Vegeta murmured.

“That may not happen here—it may never happen,” Trunks said with a grimace, as he remembered the crazy power they’d attained . . . And he knew there was more beyond that. His father had asked him if he’d achieved something called Ultra Instinct. It wasn’t a term Trunks had ever heard of, but it was clear that whatever that form was, it was beyond even blue or rosé.

“Why not?” the king asked.

The prince’s lips were thinned. “They pushed each other. Over and over they both rose in power in constant competition, but . . .”

“But what?”

Trunks looked up and met his grandfather’s gaze. “But there was also suffering . . . destroyed planets and torture to get to that point. I never wanted anyone to go through that. I saved this planet to prevent it.”

The king looked at him for a long time before turning away. He left the room without another word, and Trunks sagged a bit as he sat down on one of the sofas.

“My welcome has officially been worn out,” he said.

Raditz raised a brow. “The king may be irritated, but he’s not angry at you.”

Trunks snorted out a derisive laugh. “He’s obsessed with the legendary—with the super saiyan god—and I just told him it’ll probably never happen because I saved this planet. He may not think the sacrifice was worth it.”

“He is the King, but he is also the Prince’s father. He would never wish that kind of suffering onto his own son.”

Trunks wasn’t so sure. “I think . . . I want to go home for a while,” he said, getting up again.

The dark-haired saiyan blinked for a second before his hand shot out and he gripped Trunks’ arm. “You can not leave.”

Trunks looked down at the hand before looking back up to meet Raditz’s eyes. “I think I can.” 

He pulled away and walked off. His first inclination was simply to put his fingers to his head and disappear—go back to Earth . . . 

He immediately changed direction and headed out of the palace. It was easy to find Bulma amongst the saiyans . . . even easier when Vegeta was with her in the Science Division. No one stopped him or gave him a side eye so the king hadn’t made any orders to the guard about him.

He easily walked through the long winding halls of the science division and was waved through by the receptionist at the Capsule Corp. labs. He pressed the chime on the door, but didn’t wait for an answer because when Prince Vegeta was around, he usually just made Bulma ignore anyone wanting to see her.

Trunks was full of regret for many things in his life, and walking through that door easily made his top ten. The youngest prince felt his jaw drop open as he watched what was clearly his mother and his father locking lips. The prince had both arms around Bulma as though he couldn’t get nearly enough of her while one of her hands was buried in Vegeta’s thick hair and the other . . .

The other was some place Trunks didn’t want to know about.

He turned to leave but a husky voice called out. “What do you want, brat?”

He shuttered in hesitation at the question—so like the Vegeta of the other timeline—his father.

Bulma seemed to realize that they weren't alone because he heard her gasp and then her low snarl of, “What the fuck, Vegeta. Why didn’t you say something?”

He still didn’t turn back around, but he answered none-the-less. “I’m sorry, Bulma. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I’m . . . I’m headed back to Earth.”

“Wait—what?” he heard her ask loudly.

The lavender-haired warrior felt her hand on his shoulder and he turned back around the find Vegeta leaning against the table he’d just had Bulma pressed against while the human woman looked stricken.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, her brow furrowed with worry. “Already?”

He shrugged. “This was only ever a visit, Bulma. I just wanted to see if you wanted to hitch a ride with me back to Earth.”

“Back to . . . Earth,” she echoed as she hesitated.

Where Vegeta had initially seemed indifferent to Trunks’s presence and words, the prince was suddenly by Bulma’s side, his fingers curling around her wrist.

“You may leave at any time, half-breed,” the prince said imperiously. “But the woman stays.”

There was something in Vegeta’s eyes. Something farel and possessive that Trunks didn’t remember ever seeing before. He was about to say something but Bulma beat him to it.

“Hey, Mister! You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Vegeta reached over and pulled her collar down, exposing a bruised patch of skin at the juncture of her throat and neck. Trunks blinked stupidly at the mark. It was . . .

“This says I do,” the prince said with a smug smile.

“What just because you got a little kinky—”

Vegeta flushed, his eyes wide. “Kinky? Woman! What do you think that is?”

“A hickey?” she asked uncomfortably.

Trunks swallowed. “Bulma, that’s . . . that’s a mating mark.”

The human turned back to look at him, confusion tinged with trepidation. “A what?”

“It means, woman,” Vegeta said, drawing her attention back to him. “That I’ve claimed you for myself.” He reached up and pulled down his own collar and Trunks was even more astonished to see a matching mark on the older saiyan. “You reciprocated and once you’ve birthed an heir—”

Bulma reared back. “Heir?” she shrieked. “ _ What _ heir?”

Vegeta’s head tilted. “I’ve chosen you for my mate—my princess consort. Of course, you will produce an heir.”

Her jaw was hanging open in shock and Trunks got the distinct impression that his father hadn’t discussed any of these specifics with his mother.

After a few seconds of processing, Bulma suddenly pulled away from Vegeta, physically taking a few steps away from the other man. “Look, Vegeta, I’m—I’m really flattered—”

“As you should be,” the prince said quickly, though it was painfully obvious that he didn’t understand her hesitation.

Bulma rolled her eyes before continuing evenly. “I like you—I do. But this was a temporary thing, remember? I never planned to stay here.”

Now it was Vegeta’s turn to look confused, before anger overcame his features. “No,” he said lowly before turning to face Trunks. “This is not what you promised me.”

Trunks took a step back at the anger he saw there. “I didn't—”

“You did!” the dark-haired saiyan said as he shoved Trunks back. “You showed me the future—”

The half-breed shook his head frantically. “I showed you  _ another _ future. Things are different now!”

“She is supposed to love me!” Vegeta snarled out, yellow bursting from his form as he stalked forward.

“Trunks, what the hell is going on?” Bulma called out, worried.

Vegeta looked back at Bulma for a second. “Yes . . . Tell her, brat. Tell her  _ who _ you are.”

His blood began to run cold. “Vegeta—”

“Don’t you mean,  _ Father?”  _ the prince asked snidely.

Trunks looked back at forth between them, biting his lip. “Please don’t make me—”

“Tell her or I will!”

Bulma came around the prince, edging by him, before stopping beside Trunks. “Whatever it is. It’ll be okay.”

He looked at her. So young, but still the same. His mother.

“You—I came from the future.”

She nodded after a moment. “Yeah. I uh . . . I sort of figured that out.”

He swallowed. “Vegeta, he . . . he’s my father.”

Bulma looked back at the prince as the saiyan dropped the golden glow, his arms coming up to cross in front of him.

“He’s your father,” she said slowly. “But you’re a half-breed and your—your mother is . . . human.”

Her hand fell away from him and his eyes clenched shut in shame. His fingers twitched towards his forehead—intent on escape, but two light touches on his cheeks stopped him. His eyes opened again as her hands came around to cup his jaw.

She seemed to be examining him intently and he swallowed uncomfortably. 

“I knew we were related,” she whispered. “But I never thought . . . You’re my son.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Trunks,” she said, pulling him into a hug. His fingers trembled as he wrapped his arms around her.

He looked at Vegeta over her shoulder and he could see the prince analyzing the pair of them. He wasn't looking away or glaring at Trunks. His eyes were only on Bulma. The half-breed couldn’t help but feel as though this was simply a means to an end for the prince.

Trunks finally met Vegeta’s gaze and knew he was right. The saiyan prince wouldn't use this knowledge to force Bulma to stay, but his human mother would never try and avert Trunks’ birth, either. She would stay with Vegeta simply because of that.

He held her a little tighter.

And Trunks would stay to protect her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't go too much into Raditz and Trunks' reunion, mostly because it was basically the pair of them tearing one another's clothes off and pretty much ignoring their issues. It's very saiyan of them, but not so interesting to write. :/


	43. Chapter 43

Bulma didn’t bother turning around as the doors to her apartment opened. Only one person on the planet had such access. She heard him walk quietly down the hallway and enter the room she was in. He approached but didn’t touch her as she continued to face the window and look out into the capitol.

“All this time, you knew Trunks was our son.”

He was silent for a few seconds before finally speaking. “In another lifetime . . . yes, he’s ours.”

“Is he why you approached me?” she asked as she turned to face him.

Vegeta had a rather lost look on his face with his lips tightening. It was answer enough.

She let out a sigh. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised . . . everyone told me how ugly I am and you're the goddamn prince—”

“Shut up, woman.” he snarled out, suddenly pushing her back. “Sulking isn’t sexy.”

She shrugged indifferently. “So, once you get your very own half-breed out of me . . . is that it?”

The prince’s lips thinned. “There are others.”

“Other what?” Bulma asked with a raised brow.

“Other children. In his time, he was the only one because I was killed when he was still an infant, but he showed me yet another timeline—one where you and I have more than one offspring—where we lived on Earth in your round capsule building.”

They’d lived together in her home on Earth? Bulma thought over the ramifications of such a thing. Vegeta was a prince . . . the only way he would be living anywhere but on his home planet was if . . . if the planet wasn’t there. They called Trunks the savior and he could travel through time. He’d seen other timelines. More than one . . . one kid could be a fluke, but two, three? That was a pattern. 

“What else did he show you?” she asked.

“Something I didn’t know I wanted until the vision left me,” he said slowly. “I didn't know that he—I . . . I didn't know it could be like that.”

She swallowed. “You know . . . I came here to get a break from all the relationship drama, and now I have a future son and an alien boyfriend.”

“We’re on my planet so technically you’re the alien,” he said absently.

“Are you serious about this Vegeta?” she asked, watching him carefully. “About me?”

“If I were merely interested in the one child, I would have sired the boy and moved on but this . . .” he said reaching out and running his fingers over the mark on her neck. “This is forever.”

“I didn’t agree to forever,” she whispered. “When we started this—you agreed it would be casual.”

“Things change.”

Bulma's eyes narrowed. “But did they? After everything, did anything really change—for you? Wasn’t this exactly what you wanted?”

“I knew who you were when we started . . . but I hadn’t decided one way or another what would happen.”

“Not till you took me for a spin, right?” she asked snidely.

“It’s not like that and you  _ know _ it,” he barked out.

“How can I know that? Everyone here has been lying to me from day god damn one! Ever since the king—” she cut herself off as her face flattened out. Trunks had saved the saiyans from the arcosian, Frieza . . . and then he’d gone back to Earth, intending to live out his life anonymously—until, the saiyans had come knocking. She didn’t think Trunks would have willingly fessed up about his origins which meant that they’d found out on their own and . . . The pieces of the story quickly slotted into place, and the strange nagging doubts that had always lingered in the back of her mind rushed to the forefront.

“The king knew about this too, didn’t he,” she said accusingly. “He somehow knew I was Trunks’ mother and I’m here on this planet because of that—the entire fucking Capsule Corp. contracts were all made to get me to stay here.”

The blood drained from his face. “Bulma . . . It’s not . . .”

“Get out,” she said quietly.

“What?”

Bulma kept her voice even. “I said get the  _ fuck _ out. I can't even look at you right now.”

She could tell that he wanted to argue with her—perhaps try to explain, but he seemed to realize that excuses would just make her angrier.

“I will return this evening,” he said slowly.

“Don’t bother—”

“Neither of us will sleep alone,” he said, something harsh in his tone. “Not ever again.”

Her lips tightened but she said nothing more as he turned away and left the room and the apartments. She could have come up behind him and changed the locks—she almost did but . . .

He was her . . . her mate? Her husband? The king had seemed accepting enough of her in his son’s life, but now that she knew what had been going on behind the scenes, the man was probably please with a job well done.

But no one had ever made any kind of announcement, there hadn’t been anything official—hell they hadn’t even appeared in public together. It was one thing to be discreet about a casual affair, but quite another if Vegeta intended to have a  _ family _ with her. Maybe he  _ was _ serious about her—about a future with her, but he could also intend to keep said future a secret. Perhaps he’d just keep his alien mistress out of the public eye.

Bulma snorted.  _ Not a fucking chance, _ she thought before turning away from the window. She was no one’s dirty secret. The blue haired human walked out her room, feeling around for various power levels. She began making her way towards one in particular. It wasn’t a far walk considering the relatively recent upgrade of her own apartments that put her within spitting distance of the royal wing.

She hit the comms on the door and didn’t have long to wait before the doors slid open and her purple-haired future son stood before her.

“B—Bulma,” he said blinking down at her in surprise.

“You and I need to talk,” she said softly before brushing past him and walking inside. Raditz was there, of course but the other saiyan merely nodded in her direction before quietly taking his leave and then it was just the two of them.

“Why did you do it?” she asked. “Why did you become my friend?”

The Earth was a big place—billions of people. He could have gone full hermit and she’d never have heard from him, but he hadn’t . . . he’d gone to  _ that _ particular tournament.

He swallowed. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean for it to happen . . . I tried to avoid you, remember?”

“I thought that was just cause you weren’t interested in me—Oh  _ Jesus _ ,” she said as she brought her hand up to squeeze the bridge of her nose. She felt a headache coming on. “I hit on my own son.”

“You didn’t know,” he said slowly as if that was some kind of excuse. 

She sighed. “You weren’t ever going to tell me, were you?”

Trunks couldn’t meet her eyes. “I didn’t—didn’t want you to treat me any differently. You’re not my mom, you’re my friend.”

As sweet a sentiment as it was, she wouldn’t let him off that easily. “A friend would have said something—do you know what the king and the prince have been doing—this whole crazy royal conspiracy of theirs—and for what? For you? For you to be born?”

“I didn’t want you to come here,” Trunks said, as if that were some excuse. “I never expected you to meet Vegeta.”

“But he and I were together in your timeline.”

Trunks nodded slowly before looking away. “In most of them.”

“ _ Most _ of them?” Bulma asked skeptically. “How many have you been to?”

“A few,” he said vaguely which had her rolling her eyes.

Bulma sighed as she let him evade the subject. “He said there was more than one kid—what  _ exactly _ did you say to him?”

She needed to know what had convinced him to go after her. It could not just be Trunks’ existence. Vegeta wasn’t the type to even think about kids, but then she hadn’t thought he’d mark her as his mate, either. 

“I didn’t  _ say _ anything,” Trunks mumbled. “I just . . . We were meditating and I showed him a memory of the two of you together. You— _ She _ was pregnant with their second child. They were . . . they were so happy. Even though that moment wasn’t from my timeline and my own mother . . . she never got to experience it . . . I treasured that memory. Growing up, I never knew my father or what exactly motivated him to have a relationship with my mother, but that . . . perhaps my parents could have loved one another . . . one day.”

“Vegeta saw that— _ felt _ that,” she said as a few more pieces fell into place.

“I didn’t expect it to affect him like the way it did.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Of  _ course _ it affected him—have you  _ met _ the saiyans? Most of them have the emotional range and maturity of a potato.”

Trunks was looking anywhere but at her as his guilt was clearly eating at him. “Vegeta is . . . different.”

She crossed her arms. “Yes, I know. But he never experienced that . . . not until you dumped it onto him, and now he is expecting to feel that way again—like a drug addict looking for a high.”

The room became quiet after that. Trunks didn’t say anything to that and as much as she wanted to knock hi upside his head for allowing the saiyans to manipulate her like that, she didn’t regret the time she’d spent on Vegeta-sei—or with its prince.

“Are you . . . Do you want to go back to Earth?” Trunks asked slowly. “I’ll take you there now if it’s what you want.”

That brought her up short. Was that what she wanted? She’d been planning to leave until Vegeta had sunk his teeth into her like a vampire and told her to do the same. Bulma absently reached up and her fingers rested on the raised bit of skin on her throat. 

“Are you going back, too? Would you stay there?” she asked.

He was silent for a fraction of a second before shaking his head. “I . . . I don’t think so.”

“You were ready to leave only an hour ago,” the human woman pointed out.

“I was angry, I—my emotions got the better of me. My life . . . it’s here, now.” 

Bulma tried to picture her life on Earth. Days filled with fending off paparazzi and doing paperwork as she ran her company. Nights spent deflecting calls from Yamucha and cutting the TV off the second the news started talking about her.

Her life on Vegeta-sei was relatively quiet, but that was only because she’d installed competent people back on Earth. They were temporary—only there to handle her previous responsibilities while she established this branch of Capsule Corp. here in the Saiyan Empire.

She’d thrown herself into her work here and cared little for saiyan gossip. Vegeta had said that they lived together on Earth in the memory he saw . . . but that wasn’t a reality for the here and now. Vegeta was a prince. He wasn’t going to pack up his stuff and move to Earth to live the quiet life of a—a house husband while she worked.

If she left . . . would he come and find her? Did she want him to? Did she even truly want to leave him? Vegeta was . . . he was unlike anyone she’d ever met. A man who believed everything was his by right, someone who could wipe out an entire planet without a thought . . . an alien prince who looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the universe.

If she left . . . it would destroy him.

“I’m sorry, Bulma,” Trunks said softly. “I’m sorry I did this to you.”

Bulma looked at him and he finally met her gaze. “I’m not angry for what you did, Trunks. I’m angry that you kept all these secrets and now my life has been twisted out of my control. I don’t even know if what he’s feeling for me is real or if its some strange echo of that memory or even the manipulation of his father.”

“He’s—he’s different than the man I met in the other timeline, but . . . I think the way he feels about you . . . I don’t think that could ever change.”

Bulma bit her lip before nodding. “I . . . I need to . . .”

She didn’t finish the sentence before turning and walking away. Trunks didn’t call after her as she fled his quarters and walked down the hallway. She knew where she needed to go.

 

* * *

 

He’d known even when revealing Trunks’ secret that it was a mistake, but he’d been so angry—angry at the thought of her leaving that he hadn’t been able to stifle the words and now . . . now his mate was _ pissed _ .

And even worse . . . she had every right to be.

He’d stepped right into his father’s shoes and used every tactic provided to him by the king to manipulate her into being his mate. He’d known since before they’d even met that she was intelligent, and it hadn’t taken much for her to put it all together.

One fucking moment of anger and now she was angry—angry enough that she wasn’t yelling. He could deal with the screaming, but the quiet was another thing entirely. It wasn’t like her. She’d been loud since their first meeting—truthfully, he liked that about her.

He entered his quarters and all but collapsed on the sitting room sofa. He could see the capital out beyond the terrace and thought over all that he was—the power he’d amassed and the empire he would one day rule.

That vision for himself had evolved over the course of only a few short months. He would have his irritatingly intelligent mate and a bevy of azure and lavender-haired brats—all with the eyes of his mate.

Vegeta sighed and couldn’t help reaching out to find her ki. He felt her moving towards the royal wing and for a second he thought she was coming to him—to yell at him . . . to forgive him . . . but no. She was headed for Trunks’ room.

He stood up abruptly, his gaze towards his doors and a fear filling his mind.  _ She was going to leave, _ he thought. She was so angry that she was going to go back to Earth. He took a step towards the door. He could be there in seconds. He could stop her—drag her back to his quarters and tie her to the bedpost until she agreed to stay . . . but no . . .

The prince sank back down onto the sofa in a slump. He couldn’t do that to her, not his mate. 

“You’re such a fucking weakling,” he said allowed. “She’s only a woman—one who doesn’t want you.”

In other timelines they’d been together, but perhaps too much had changed. Perhaps this . . . relationship with his blue-haired human was a sacrifice made for the survival of his race.

He reached up and ran his his fingers over the patch of skin where she’d marked him. Even if she left, he’d always carry her mark. No other would ever compare and he’d be forced to use the genetics office to sire children in the future.

He felt her tiny powerlevel—he held onto it and waited for it to inevitably disappear. 

But it didn’t. Moments ticked by and still it remained. He swallowed as she began moving again. She’d left the half-breed and . . . she was here.

“Bulma . . .” he breathed out as the door slid open and she approached him. 

His mate hadn’t left. She was still with him.

She came to stand beside him and he looked up at her. Her hands reached out and cupped his jaw. He felt her delicate fingers curling into his hair as her blue eyes moved over his face.

“You have to promise me,” she said softly. “No more lies. We’re—we’re not just mates. We’re partners, okay?”

He nodded quickly. “I promise.”

She leaned down and kissed him. “You’re going to marry me, too.”

The prince blinked at the notion. “Marry?”

Her finger ran over his bottom lip and it took everything in him not to try and suck it into his mouth. “I’m not going to be your little human side-piece. I don’t know how saiyans do things, but on Earth, we get married before kids.”

That was . . .  _ there wasn’t much time _ , he thought as his gaze shifted to the side, guiltily. 

As per usual, she seemed keenly aware of what he was thinking. “Vegeta . . . when will Trunks be born?”

“I don’t . . . soon,” he said after another few seconds of hesitation. “Before the end of this year.”

She took a steadying breath as she nodded. “We’re going to Earth,” she said firmly. “You’re going to meet my parents and I’m going to file the paperwork and at least have a damn ceremony.”

He could . . . he could do that—he could do a lot more than that if she was agreeing to stay with him, but . . .

“Chennai is in six weeks,” he said. “I can not be off planet for it.”

Bulma looked at him for a second before nodding. “Fine, but right after Chennai, we’re going. I’ll have everything ready by then.”

“This is that important to you, woman?” he asked with a dubiously raised brow. What did a piece of paper on another planet matter in the grand scheme of things?

“I want kids, Vegeta . . . but I want them with my husband.”

_ Husband _ . . . he thought, rolling the term around in his mind. “So you would be my . . . my wife?”

She blinked before nodding thoughtfully. “Yes.”

“Wife,” he whispered again as he stood up, his mouth meeting hers as he pulled her in. “My wife,” he said again.


	44. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This interlude and Chapter 43 were posted together as 43 was a bit on the short side. If you accidentally skipped 43, go back and read that.

The king looked up from the pad he was reading when the door to his office suddenly burst open. The person standing in the doorway, was, of course, his son.

“What is it, Vegeta?” he asked, dropping the pad onto his desk.

His son marched inside and the door slid shut behind him. “I’ve marked the woman as my mate and she wishes to have a ceremony of binding on her planet.”

“You’re  _ marrying _ her?” the king asked skeptically as the prince dumped himself into one of the chairs across the desk.

His son’s cheeks flushed slightly. “She does not wish our children to be illegitimate in the eyes of her people. It is a small concession.”

The king leaned back in his chair, all sort of scenarios racing through his mind. “And what of the people here— _ your _ people? What will do about them?”

Vegeta snorted. “I am a super saiyan—stronger than even the savior. I’d like to see what they would say in refute.”

_ Typical _ , he thought with a snort. “It is not what they will say to your face but what they will  _ do _ behind your back. I expected you to breed with the woman, not take her to mate.”

The prince grimaced. “She would never have agreed to procreate with me without promise and I would not force a child onto a female as I please—the  _ dishonor _ of such a thing.”

And yet, from the vague conversations he’d had with Trunks regarding his parentage in his own timeline, that seemed to be exactly what his son had done with the woman. Neither Trunks nor his mother had known that saiyans could control their fertility. They’d believed that Trunks’ conception had been an accident and Vegeta had let them.

“Be that as it may, should we be wrong and the boy not be as powerful—”

“He will,” the prince said firmly. “He will more than prove himself to the rest of our race.” 

Truthfully, the future heir’s fitness was the least of his concerns, and so he voiced the true source of his apprehension. “She will not live as long as us,” he said quietly. “She will pass on into the next dimension long before you or possibly even I do.”

Vegeta was quiet and the king could see that his son was struggling to find the right words to express how that made him  _ feel _ . “I know that,” he said after a moment, voice tight.

The king leaned in. “Then why would you subject yourself to this?”

The prince took a steadying breath. “Because whatever time I have with her will be worth what I must endure later.” 

The older saiyan shook his head. “I did not push her towards you with the intention of you . . . suffering the loss of a mate in only a few decades.”

“And yet, I am still grateful that you did so. I have no regrets.”

The king said nothing further as his son left the office. What could he say when he as well had succumbed to the call of a mate. But Bardock was only slightly younger than he was, a saiyan still in his prime that would accompany him in the centuries still to come.

He’d gone to great lengths to choose a worthy saiyan for his son—to bring that saiyan back to this planet. A saiyan that would garner respect from the lower classes and nobles alike but who was also uninterested in political power.

_ Not all plans _ , he supposed,  _ could be executed without a hitch here or there _ . He did not dislike Bulma Briefs—he genuinely liked her, actually—but she would never have been his first choice of permanent mate for his son. The king had expected his son to have some affection for the woman, but he hadn’t expected that affection to become  _ attachment _ . 

Still, the king was not unfamiliar with playing the long game and with the galaxy currently at peace, he could afford to wait and see how things would turn out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapter is going to take me a bit to get out. It's probably the most chopped up crappy chapter of the entire draft because it was one of the first things written—the result of this being that almost none of it makes sense with the storyline as it evolved so most of it will have to be rewritten. So probably a week or two before that pops up. ~sorry


	45. Chapter 45

Raditz held back a snarl as he walked through the training complex. Trunks was walking ahead of him talking to the king’s secretary through a scouter. Their training had been cut short and they were headed for the labs, but that wasn’t what was irritating the saiyan captain.

“He may not be as strong as Prince Vegeta, but he’s still a super saiyan—can you imagine  _ riding _ such a power through Chennai?”

“Riding? I’d rather have the half-breed under me moaning—taking it from a _real_ saiyan. I thought he was so ugly at first, but now all I can think about is wrapping that purple hair around my fist and holding him down with it.”

Raditz paused and Trunks continued on, either oblivious or simply ignoring it. The guardsman, however, didn’t have it in him to simply shrug it off. He turned back towards the noble, his eyes narrowing and the younger man flinched slightly but didn’t back down. The streaks of crimson in the saiyan’s hair identified him as one of the Rhubar boys, but he couldn’t be sure which one. Veet of House Rhubar and his mate were . . . prolific—almost scandalously so. At last count, there were nine children, six of which were boys. There could have been more, but noble house reproduction wasn’t exactly an area of interest for Raditz. The guard captain was aware that at least the oldest daughter and the two oldest sons had joined the imperial fleet, meaning it was neither of them. This one looked to be in his early twenties, so he may have been the third or fourth son. Raditz scanned the saiyan—clocking him at just over sixteen thousand.

“Something you want to say, Captain?” the young man asked with a haughty jut of his chin.

Raditz tilted his head and walked slowly towards him.  “Do you really think someone like _you_ has what it takes to  _ hold down a prince _ ?”

The noble’s eyes narrowed before he shook his head arrogantly. “Once Chennai hits, he won’t really care whose rut he’s taking—whores aren’t that discerning—”

Raditz phased out and hit the saiyan, sending the younger man flying into the wall. He heard a few chuckles behind him from some of the other nobles.

“Fenyuan! You dumbass—that’s the prince’s mate you’re talking to,” someone called out—someone clearly better informed of the situation.

Fenyuan hauled himself back to his feet, wiping the blood from the side of his mouth, though it seemed, part of his jaw was at least fractured if the unnatural shifting under the skin was anything to go by.

“They’re not mates!” he yelled out, agitated even as his words slurred slightly. “The half-breed has no mate. I saw you two on the Vigilant—you aren’t even together anymore—”

The captain sent a blast hurtling towards the saiyan, knocking him back down and this time, Fenyuan was out cold. Raditz gritted his teeth as he turned away. There was a small crowd of saiyans standing around watching and he was about to shove past them when he noticed Zushin at the front. It had been him that had called out before.

The other man stepped aside to let him through, as did the others, but the noble quickly caught up and began walking beside him.

“Everyone knows that the prince is spoken for,” Zushin said easily. “And it’s only little shits like Fenyuan who would think they can slither their way between you and Prince Trunks.”

Raditz said nothing at first. It had become painfully obvious that Fenyaun hadn’t actually thought of Trunks as a whore—no, he’d been trying to get a rise out of Raditz, using whatever juvenile methods that he could think of to spark some kind of problem between he and the prince.

He hissed in irritation. “I hate kids.”

Zushin shrugged. “They don’t have a lot of options—fewer still when they set eyes upon a savior prince and decide they want him for themselves.”

“Skinny little boys have no business instigating fights they can’t win,” Raditz said with a disgusted grimace.

“It’s the saiyan way to at least try—you know how we get.”

The captain snorted. “That’s what I’m afraid of . . . I know he’s not the only one.”

Zushin made a sound of agreement. “Everyone thought he was way out of their league and they were . . . comfortable waffling between derision and awe. But then he lost to Prince Vegeta. Suddenly, he’s not so untouchable. Those that held him in disdain could settle into that with total ease, but the ones that were in  _ awe _ . . . Saiyans will always be drawn to power. Luckily for you, the ones stronger than you are already spoken for—for the most part, anyway.”

Raditz didn’t style himself as being the strongest around—he wasn’t even in the top ten or even twenty on the planet, but while Zushin had a point that the few who were stronger than him would have no interest in the prince, he couldn’t help but worry that with Chennai hitting them all in the coming days and the increasing hormones flooding their systems . . .

Someone who may have had only a passing interest in Trunks on a normal day would suddenly decide that the prince was more appealing.

“Prince Trunks isn’t letting some frothing noble mount him—if he’s even affected by Chennai. Most half-breeds aren’t.”

Raditz grimaced. He’d never felt much effect of Chennai either. Many off-worlders and even some saiyans mistakenly called it a saiyan mating season. That wasn’t quite right, though. Very young children were affected by it more so than many adults—not in a sexual manner but in the form of increased aggression. When it came to adults . . . most felt an increase in sexual urges, but the ones that went out of control . . . those saiyans already had someone in mind—someone they wanted and Chennai brought out the best or  _ worst _ of that desire.

While the guardsman hadn’t felt the affects . . . he remembered that Renkon  _ had _ . . . and he remembered how the man hadn’t been able to look at him after it had run its course. 

“Are you afraid of what happened with Renkon?”

Raditz paused in his steps and looked at Zushin. “My relationship with Prince Trunks isn’t the same as it was with Renkon.”

“No, but I seem to recall you looking forward to spending Chennai with him—that the pair of you had all kinds of bets and plans for who would take who—”

“It’s  _ not _ the same!” he repeated, cutting the other man off in agitation.

Zushin blinked impassively. “Perhaps a mark from the prince . . .”

Raditz grimaced. “Neither he nor I are in any hurry to do that. We aren't interested in procreation, and so there is no reason to secure a commitment for our bloodlines.”

“Is that him or you?”

“Both of us,” he said emphatically.

And it was true. He didn’t harbor any secret obsessive desire to be mated the prince. He was fine with what they had . . . he was also fine with giving Trunks a way out if it came to that.

And all the whispering around the palace about that—about what the king was planning to do with Trunks now that Prince Vegeta was a super saiyan. Most of it had died down when the God-King had left in a snit, but communication continued to flow between the palace and Andromeda.

“It’s alright to be selfish every once in a while, you know—to  _ want _ something,” Zushin murmured.

Raditz snorted. “It’s never been about _want_ —he is . . . he’s too much for me. Everyone knows it—and they’d be even more sure if they knew the whole truth,” he whispered as his thoughts shifted to that rosé—that pastel confection of pure power and lethal intent. Trunks could truly wipe everything away if he chose.

“Is this  _ truth _ the reason you two were . . .”

Raditz grimaced and that was answer enough as Zushin nodded.

“I assume he doesn’t agree with that—you’re letting your insecurities about the nobles—about the God-King get to you.”

“I never cared about the nobles,” he said. “But the God-King . . .”

Jiren was the only person who could come close to Trunks’ power—the only person who could  _ truly _ stand with the saiyan prince. Raditz had not felt inferior to anyone in decades, but in that moment of seeing Trunks with those saiyans from the other timeline . . . he’d never felt so small.  He’d needed time to wrap his mind around what the prince was—what the half-breed wielded with little more than a thought. Raditz had eventually come to the conclusion that nothing had changed—not really. Trunks had clearly had this power at his disposal long before they’d even met. 

He’d always known that the half-breed outstripped him in power and it had never made him feel like less—truthfully, it had always been an encouragement. Still now, he didn’t feel lower; however, it just made the gap between them that much wider and then when the God-King had come . . .

Raditz was secure in his power—in his position and in his place in Trunks’ affection. He was less secure in his convictions that keeping Trunks for himself was the right thing to do—for the prince or for the empire.  Zushin called them his insecurities and he was right.

“The God-King is a better match for him than I could ever be,” he added.

The noble shook his head. “That’s not for you to decide. That’s Prince Trunks’ decision, and I think he made that very clear the last time the weurle were here. He’s not interested in the God-King.” 

Raditz had seen the recording of Trunks’ encounter with Jiren. He’d gone into one of the king’s control rooms and watched it—he hadn’t been able to help himself. The grey sentient had come all the way back to Vegeta-sei—had looked ready to go after Trunks  _ physically _ when the prince had left him standing there, but in the end, he hadn’t done that. He’d walked away.  Raditz didn’t think for a second that the weurle had given up—not with the way the other man looked at Trunks. 

“I know he isn’t,” Raditz said in response. “If I had any doubts, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Zushin shrugged as they passed a large window. The red of the sky was prominent in the setting of one of the suns.

“Chennai begins tomorrow,” the noble murmured as he paused.

Raditz halted as well and turned to his friend. “And how is your cousin?”

“Shallot’s already gone into hiding,” Zushin began thoughtfully. “This time, though . . . this time I  _ know _ where he is.”

Raditz raised a brow. Shallot may have technically been of House Seleday, but his branch was so far removed that he was only considered a minor noble. He’d become notorious for attempting to sleep with as many saiyans as he could—though these days, few took him up on his offers, primarily because they didn’t want to deal with Zushin’s wrath.

“You should let this thing with him go . . .”

Zushin wouldn't meet his eyes. “Would you? He bears my mark . . . even after over a decade.”

Raditz felt badly for his friend. Zushin’s usually care-free attitude evaporated whenever his cousin was mentioned. Raditz hadn’t been friends with Zushin back when they’d been teenagers, but he had witnessed Shallot’s defeat of Zushin when the former had only been fifteen. He remembered how confident and proud the young noble had been as he’d limped out of the arena.  He was also aware that Zushin had done  _ something _ in retaliation that had led to Shallot completely withdrawing from the capital—only for him to return years later with a chip on his shoulder and an apparent goal to sleep with as many saiyans from as many different classes as he could.

Zushin was head of his family now after his father and mother had taken positions in the Andromeda Galaxy as ambassadors of the Saiyan Empire. Other families watched Zushin—attempted to make connections with him via arrangement, but he had never been interested in anyone other than his cousin.  Raditz wasn’t entirely certain that he agreed with Zushin’s plan to corner the other saiyan during Chennai. He also wasn’t certain that a reciprocated mating would make either of them happy or if theirs was a relationship that would only thrive off the toxicity of their less-than-positive history.

“Just don’t do anything either of you will regret.”

Zushin turned towards him abruptly. “I’m not a child any more, but this thing between he and I has to come to an end. He’s too . . . It’s my fault that he’s like this, and I intend to spend the rest of our lives making up for it.”

“If he’ll let you,” Raditz said in response.

The noble grimaced but nodded. “I can only hope that during Chennai that he . . . that he’ll come to terms with what happened—that he’ll stop running away from me.”

Zushin’s fixation with Shallot wasn’t something anyone could talk to nobleman out of. Too much time had passed and Raditz had never seen his friend’s devotion to his cousin waver. 

“I wish you luck,” Raditz said as he held his hand out.

Zushin took it with a nod. “Have fun with your prince,” he said with a chuckle, smiling like he always did.

The guardsman smiled in return before turning away and heading back towards his office. There was still much to be done coordinating with the planetary defense offices. The entire planet would be on lock down for the next five days. There were specialized squads of saiyans unaffected by the season, being dispatched to various locations on and around the planet to ensure that no enemies took advantage of the impaired population.

Truthfully, usually only around half of their people were affected to a noticeable extent, but it was the season that every saiyan celebrated nonetheless. Raditz had never applied for time off, but he had this year.

Prince Vegeta had also notified the public office that he would be indisposed, and Bulma Briefs had been forced to apply for time off as well. Oddly, Kakarot hadn’t. Apparently, his brother had never experienced any kind of symptoms, even with a mate who obviously meant quite a bit to him. Perhaps it was a side effect of having his tail removed at such a young age.

The king had already closed himself and Bardock off in the royal wing and Raditz grimaced at even the thought of what they were . . .  _ doing _ . . .

There was a roiling in his gut that hit him like a blast. The guardsman blinked rapidly as he hit one of his comms.  “This is Captain Raditz—”

“Captain, we’re receiving reports that Chennai has begun,” someone said hurriedly, cutting him off.

“It’s not supposed to start until tomorrow,” he growled out.

“That was the estimate, however the solar flare—”

Raditz hit his comms again, cutting the saiyan off, and quickly got to his feet. His entire body felt like it was on fire, and his vision had begun to redden at the edges. Saliva filled his mouth and some even dripped down his chin as he stumbled out of his office and back into the corridor.

“Trunks . . .” he said softly.

The prince had been headed for the labs and now so was he.

  
  


* * *

 

Trunks handed his notes over to Bulma. “The size of the space isn’t the problem, it's the spacing between the field generators. It should be placed in a hexagonal pattern rather than triangular for more coverage.”

Bulma nodded. “I thought of that, but the cost of adding so many more generators . . ."

The prince shrugged. "King Vegeta will approve almost any budget if it makes his son stronger—"

He was cut off by  a loud thump outside her office followed by a yell. The prince immediately got up from his seat and reached out with his senses. There were power levels converging on their location—quite a few of them.

“What’s happening?” Bulma asked, a thread of worry lacing her voice.

“There are people headed here. Keep your power level down and hide—” he began but the doors to the office were blasted open. Bulma ducked under her desk, and Trunks moved to stand before her. His brow furrowed as he spotted several saiyans trying to get in—one of which he recognized.

“Holy shit!” he breathed as the group suddenly dispersed and fell as a blast consumed them.

“C—Celera?” he called as he realized that she was the one that had attacked the others. “What’s happening?”

Her face was flushed and her eyes wide. “Prince! I found you!”

He swallowed. “Are you alright?”

The saiyan woman shook her head frantically, her eyes darting around as though looking for any other threats. “Ch—Chennai has started,” she said as she slowly approached him.

_ Shit, _ he thought. “I thought it was tomorrow.”

The woman said nothing at first as she came to stand in front of him. She held her hand out. “Come with me. I want to be in private.”

“For what?”

The facade of calm was slowly cracking and her hand shook as she still held it out. “You are my choice,” she said, her breathing come out in short pants.

“I’m not your mate,” he said.

Her face twitched for a seconds before her hand shot out like a viper and wrapped around his wrist. “We’re leaving!” she yelled and Trunks was about to pull away when another figure filled the doorway.

Celera whirled around and looked ready to launch herself, but she quickly backed up a step.

“Vegeta?” he called in confusion, and Bulma popped out of her hiding place.

“Vegeta?” she echoed, and the older prince’s eyes zeroed in on the human.

He phased by Trunks and Celera and appeared before her.

“Vegeta, are you alright?” she asked, but he didn't respond in words. The dark-haired saiyan reached an arm around her waist and hoisted her up off her feet and over his shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?” she yelped out as she struggled to get purchase and her legs kicked out wildly.

Trunks moved to help the woman but Celera had her arms around him like an octopus and he had stumbled. “Let go, Celera” he said, trying desperately to extricate himself without hurting her.

“No! The human belongs to Prince Vegeta—you’re mine!” she growled out.

His brow furrowed when he looked down at her for a second before looking back up at Vegeta's retreating figure as the man left the lab entirely.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Celera,” he said.

“What if I want you to?” she asked huskily. “What if I want you to make it _burn_?”

He swallowed and froze at the question. “Um . . .”

Before he could say anything else, there was another blast, and it hit Celera square in the back. She let out a sharp cry as she fell away from him onto the floor.

Trunks blinked stupidly down at her still form before looking back  up. Raditz stood there panting and shaking, his arm still outstretched from the attack.

“Raditz!” he whispered.

“Call . . . the medics . . .” Raditz ground out, his other hand clutching the door jam as though physically forcing himself not to go any further. Trunks nodded and went to desk. He hit the comm.

“This is Prince Trunks. We need a medical team in the Capsule Corp lab, immediately.”

“Understood. Team is being dispatched.”

He released the button and looked back at the other saiyan. Half of his armor was missing and he’d clearly been in a fight. 

“Raditz, you’re . . . you’re not yourself,” he said hesitantly.

“I know, but I need you.”

The half-breed nodded slowly. He’d gone over the pads King Vegeta had given him, and though he’d never experienced this himself, his grandfather had told him that there was a possibility that Raditz would be affected.

He advanced towards the other man, reaching out, and the guard captain slumped a bit in relief as he too approached and their hands touched. Trunks exited the office and saw many of the sentients employed by CC were also hiding under their desks. He felt their eyes on him as he left with the last saiyan standing. The medical team that had been dispatched came through, and Raditz snarled at them, but the prince just pulled on him. The pair left the building and flew up into the air and headed back for his chambers. The balcony doors were open as they usually were, and so he landed gracefully. His lover was already pulling on his clothing, even as he pushed Trunks into the bedroom.

The prince allowed it and began pulling his uniform off. Overall, the entire thing was less . . . frantic than he’d thought it would be. Desire rolled off Raditz in waves, but the texts had made it sound as though the saiyans became animals. But Celera hadn’t been like that and neither had Vegeta, and Raditz seemed fairly in control, as well.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like there’s fire under my skin. I need to touch you. I need you to touch me.”

Trunks nodded and walked over. He reached out and ran his hand over the other saiyan’s chest, touching the thick hair that grew there before looking up and meeting Raditz’s eyes. In a fraction of a second the guardsman was on him, lips mashing against his and hands pulling him close.

 

* * *

 

Bulma said nothing as she sat awake in bed. The sun was coming up, and the loud sounds of mating had long since died down. She hadn’t heard from Goku or Trunks but she assumed they were fine. She looked down at Vegeta.  Her saiyan prince seemed so peaceful when he slept. His brow wasn’t furrowed and his lips weren’t turned in a scowl or a smirk. There was no pretentiousness or pride, just Vegeta. 

“Stop staring, woman,” he muttered.

Bulma let out a snort of a laugh. “You’re just so handsome.”

“Of course, I am,” he said as his eyes finally slid open. He looked towards her and she tilted her head and smiled. 

“Are you okay, now?” she asked.

The prince nodded. “I have fulfilled Chennai, so I’ll be alright,” he said before pausing. “There are others who will refuse the call and they will continue to be affected . . . you should stay in your rooms another few days.”

Bulma licked her lips but nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll need some things from my labs, though.”

“I’ll have someone bring you whatever you need.”

She sighed and got up. “I think I’ll use the extra time to pack up and coordinate my trip back to Earth.

The saiyan sat up abruptly. “Already?”

Bulma blinked and nodded. “Of course. I’ve been working with a few people back on Earth to have everything ready for—for us, but . . . I have other responsibilities to the company that need to be handled in person and the sooner the better.”

“I can not be away from the planet for more than a few days,” he said tersely.

“I get that,” she said with a raised brow. “But you’ll need to do a couple of photo ops and answer some questions from the Capsule Corp. public relations department.”

The prince raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because you’re marrying  _ me _ ,” she said simply.

“And that’s important?” he asked with far too much innocence.

Bulma rolled her eyes. “The sun doesn’t rise and set on Vegeta-sei, you know. This isn’t the only planet of importance in the universe.”

The prince tilted his head arrogantly. “And what scale are we using to determine the importance of a planet? Galactic reputation, combined power level—”

“Oh, shut up Vegeta,” she said, shaking her head in exasperation even as a smile crossed her lips. 

The prince chuckled in return before leaning in and kissing her. “I will go to your Earth Ceremony, answer your people’s  _ burning _ questions, and then I will bring you home.”

Bulma looked away from the prince for a second, her gaze moving to the balcony and the city beyond that. Was this place home? 

Trunks had told her that Vegeta was her choice in other timelines, but Vegeta had also said that they’d lived on  _ Earth _ . 

"Do not think too hard on the future, woman. So many things are different to what they should have been, but other things still remain the same."

Bulma's eyes met the prince's once more, and she could see that even after everything, that he was still insecure about her—about her commitment to him . . . to their family.  She smiled and reached out, brushing his face gently before leaning in and kissing him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. This chapter didn't really exist when I posted the last chapter. I had some stuff written for this time in the story, but it was some of the oldest sections of the original draft and just wasn't working with what has been established since then. I have finals next week, but I'm hoping that between finals and the start of my internship in late May, that I will be able to completely finish this fic. It's almost done.
> 
> Side Note: I don't expect anyone actually cares about Zushin and Shallot, and so I'll never write a full post-able story about them, but I did write a back story on their history and what is behind the conversation between Raditz and Zushin. It's not pretty, but if anyone cares to read about it, I'll be posting it as a comment on this chapter. It's over 1200 words of just straight brainstorming and too long to post on these end notes so it's going in a comment.


	46. Chapter 46

When Vegeta appeared on Earth, it was to a far different audience than he’d had the first time he’d arrived. The empty desert and rocks were replaced by a bustling metropolis and the flashing lights of Earth reporters.

He visibly grimaced as his eyes moved over the seething horde of humans as they struggled with one another to get a view of him. He heard his guards shift around he and the younger prince as their scouters scanned the population

“Prince Vegeta!” they yelled and his eye twitched before he turned his gaze towards Trunks.

The half-breed did not seem overly bothered by the noise, which told Vegeta that this was a usual pastime of this species. He needed to get Bulma  _ off _ this planet before she contracted the stupidity.

“Be ready to come when I contact you,” he said to lavender-haired young man. “This planet is already irritating me.”

Trunks snorted out a laugh before disappearing again. There was a sharp gasp from the crowd, but he ignored that as he and his guards moved forward. His cape whipped behind him in the wind of the open terrain, and he took a few seconds to look over where he’d landed. The vast majority of the humans were kept behind fences but there was still a crowd of politicians and diplomats from every country seeking to personally make the acquaintance of the alien prince.

Bulma had given Trunks the coordinates and it appeared to be inside a compound with a familiar spherical building in the distance. He recognized it as the place in the vision Trunks had shown him. This was where he’d lived in the other timeline. 

Vegeta’s lips thinned at the thought, but he smoothed over his features as the suited humans came forward, daring to get as close as they could to the saiyans. He reluctantly motioned for his guard to allow them closer to him. Even with the permission, most still gave the alien group a wide berth. They settled for calling out their questions and comments. The prince ignore their words, however, and his attention was instead rooted on Bulma as she approached from behind the mass.

“Prince Vegeta, on behalf of my country, I would like to extend an invitation—” someone said as they stepped into his line of sight, cutting his gaze off from his mate. It was a human male with a tall lanky build. He wore a pale suit with a blue tie and black shirt beneath it. 

Vegeta eyed the human. “I have no need of such a thing. I am here for my woman and that is all.”

The man made a dismissive gesture. “Miss Briefs is, of course, one of our best and brightest, but she is hardly the  _ only _ person of note on this planet—”

The other male’s words abruptly cut off as Vegeta halted his steps and turned to face him. “What did you just say?”

The man blinked rapidly. “I only meant that . . .”

“He only means that our planet is filled with all kinds of different people—interesting people—and you’d be doing yourself a disservice by not at least giving them a chance to impress you,” Bulma said as she came to his side.

The man nodded frantically. “Yes, Yes, Miss Briefs is, of course, correct.”

“Hnnn,” Vegeta grunted out as he turned to look at Bulma. “I’ve come at your request, and you’ve greeted your mate with a circus.”

She smiled, unperturbed. “You’re a prince. They’re curious.”

“Why?” he asked with a raised brow. She’d said that it was a big deal that  _ she _ was getting married, and yet they had surrounded  _ him _ .

She leaned in. “You  _ know _ why,” she said quietly before turning back to the men and women that kept a healthy distance from the threatening looking saiyans.

“I’ll have Capsule Corp. relay any additional information from the Saiyan Empire.”

A woman with pale blonde hair stepped forward. “Miss Briefs, you do not speak on behalf of the people of Earth! He is—is a foreign dignitary. He should be hosted by the government, and not a private citizen, let alone a corporation.”

The prince snorted. “I am not interested in your petty human squabbles. I am here to meet my . . . my  _ bride’s _ parents and to engage in your ceremony of binding. That is  _ all. _ The Saiyan Empire has no intention in making ties politically with your people.”

The woman's face twisted slightly but she was too well trained to let it linger. “You may not want political ties with Earth, but your empire has already made an _economical_ tie with our planet—not to mention this—this _marriage_. It is hardly appropriate for one of our most powerful financial and technological leaders to marry a _saiyan_ _prince_.”

Bulma’s shoulder’s straightened even as Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. This woman was insinuating a possibility that Bulma would use the saiyans to  . . . to seize power over the planet. The prince raised a brow even while mentally shrugging. If Bulma asked it, he would, of course, send a squad to tear this planet down. 

But that wasn’t Bulma.

Still, his mate didn’t seem offended. “Ms. Chaplain,” she said patiently. “I am going to marry my fiance, and then I’m going back to Vegeta-sei. I will no longer be a public figure here on Earth—”

“ _ That _ is even worse,” the Chaplain woman said quickly. “Our people would have no recourse if you left, and they—they  _ did _ something to you.”

Bulma swallowed but nodded. “I understand your concern. Please contact Capsule Corp,’s public relations department if you have any other questions.”

“Miss Briefs!” the woman called out as Bulma began pulling on him, guiding him away from the gaggle of humans towards the capsule house. 

“You are important to these humans,” he said, grumbling.

Bulma smiled. “Everyone has an opinion on who I should be or what I should do. I am marrying you, because it’s what  _ I _ want,” she said as they finally made it inside the building. The doors shut behind them, and the guards fanned out.

He looked around the atrium of the building, taking in the spherical nature of the building. He was no architect, but he was well aware that spheres were considered one of the more expensive shapes to construct. They were a terrible use of space and difficult to work around. They were almost . . . decadent. 

The place was cavernous, but quiet. There was little echo of their movements, but it didn’t seem overly lavish. There were no luxurious stones or intricate paintings, no statues of their ancestors, or ostentatious displays of wealth, that he could see.

Despite its size, the space was almost . . . quaint.

Bulma wrapped her arms around him, catching his attention. “I missed you,” she whispered and Vegeta shot his guards a look that had them scurrying away before he moved the enfold her completely in his embrace.

“It’s only been a few weeks, woman.”

She nodded before looking up. “I’m sure you’re probably aware but . . . I’m pregnant.”

He watched her for a long moment before giving his own nod. “I hope you are not angry with me for not telling you.”

“I figured that’s what you meant about fulfilling Chennai,” she said while looking up at him.

He looked away. “I wasn’t sure if it would take but . . . the timeline fits.”

Bulma nodded before quirking a smile. “At least we know our son will be a good looking boy.”

Vegeta snorted. “I don’t need a future son falling out of the sky to know  _ that _ ,” he said, even as he thought of all the less than complimentary things that had been said about Trunks’ appearance when he’d first come to Vegeta-sei. He shook off his thoughts and turned to more pressing matters. “I’ve spoken to Kakarot’s mate about this marriage of yours—”

“Ours,” she corrected.

“Ours,” he echoed after some hesitation before continuing. “I was told that I should not go before your parents without a suitable gift and also this . . .” he said as he pulled a small case from inside his over suit.

Her brow furrowed as she looked down at the case. He hesitated before opening it to reveal a ring. It was not the saiyan way to wear rings—they could be an obstruction during a fight—but the dark haired human had said repeatedly that husbands and wives wore rings . . . even though her own husband did not.

Kakarot had seemed suitably chastised but he hadn’t offered to rectify the situation. Vegeta was aware that Bulma also had no expectation of him when it came to such things. This ceremony and the accompanying festivities were for her benefit alone.

However, he wanted to be a . . . a good husband to her. He wanted her to know that it was the Bulma of the here and now that he wanted rather than some wisp of a fantasy future.

When Chichi had told him of the usual style of ring given for the purposes of engagement, she’d spoken of diamonds and gold. His first inclination had been to find the largest diamond in the galaxy and present it to her—show every sentient alive that; of all the suitors she could have chosen, he was the best, but that thought had come and gone quickly.

What use did Bulma truly have for a large rock? 

Such a ring would only be a hindrance during her work in the labs. He’d also found diamonds to be . . . plain. A colorless jewel unworthy of her own vibrant coloring. No, he’d chosen the stone of his house, the color-shifting darva stone. When the jeweler had asked his thoughts on a design, he’d said that it should be simple, something that would not snag on things as she worked or irritate her skin. He wanted it smooth and simple.

“Vegeta . . .” she said softly as she blinked down at the bauble.

“I—I tried to choose something that would be . . . be good . . . for you.” he finished lamely.

“Vegeta, I love it,” she said before holding the case out. “Can you please . . .”

He nodded quickly as he removed the ring and mentally went over Kakarot’s mate’s instructions. He hadn't knelt down, but Bulma didn’t seem to mind as he slipped the ring onto the correct finger. The stones were set into a dark precious metal—the kind usually reserved for the crowns of saiyan kings and queens. It was a stark contrast with her pale skin but she was almost glowing with happiness as she admired the workmanship of the piece.

“It’s perfect,” she said and he mentally breathed a sigh of relief.

“My parents and my sister are in the other room,” she added as she once again wrapped her arm around his elbow. It seemed to be her favorite way to hold onto him and at least for now, he wasn’t inclined to shake her off—especially when he apparently needed to make a good impression on her family.

The doors slid open as they approached and two of his guards followed them inside, scanning the room for any threats. They needn’t have bothered, however, because there were only three humans there.

Vegeta eyed the human couple standing before him along with another blonde female. The male was scruffy with familiar lavender hair while the woman beside him had blonde hair and blue eyes. The last female, Tights, if he remembered had her mother’s blonde hair and her father's dark eyes.

They said nothing, at first and he could read the confusion on their faces as they looked from his face, down to Bulma’s hand on his arm, and then up to her. She had told her family about him, but the seemed somewhat disbelieving of his presence.

“I am Prince Vegeta of the Saiyan Empire,” he said, masking his impatience. “And I am here to declare my intent to marry your daughter, Bulma.”

Bulma’s mother seemed to be the first to shake off her shock. “Oh my! Did you hear that, dear? A real prince for our princess!” she said as she came to stand beside him. She poked at his bicep and he nearly took a step back as Bulma chuckled beside him.

“And so handsome too!” the woman said happily as her husband finally walked towards them. 

“Yes, I can see that,” the man said in agreement. “How long have you been together?”

Bulma spoke up. “Well, it’s been about nine months—”

“Nine months?” Tights asked, and Vegeta realize then that his mate’s sister still kept her distance. “Bulma you can’t just marry a guy after dating for less than a year.”

“I dated the last one for almost a decade,” Bulma hissed out. “Vegeta is different. He’s—he’s perfect for me.”

Tights didn’t seem convinced, and she raised a brow before looking away.

 

* * *

  
Trunks landed in his suite and immediately shed his cape. He sighed and unclasped the top portion of his uniform as he briefly fantasized about slipping into the bathing chamber and letting himself prune up in a bath until Raditz got off his shift.

The prince was about to finish pulling his oversuit off when he hear a subtle shift of fabric behind him. It was soft—a human would have missed it, but never a saiyan. Who ever it was hadn’t announced themselves, and Trunks couldn’t sense anyone which meant it could only be one person.

“Lord Beerus,” he murmured before turning around to face open doorway leading into the sitting room. Sure enough, the destroyer was reclining on one of his sofa, watching him through slitted yellow eyes. That piercing gaze moved over him, pausing momentarily on the open collar before moving back to meet Trunks’ eyes.

“How is my favorite saiyan prince?” Beerus asked lazily.

The half-breed walked towards the creature, looking around for Whis as he entered the sitting room.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said as he came to a stop in front of the sofa.

Beerus shrugged. “You are off-planet more often than you are on, these days. Whis has kept me apprised of your whereabouts, and you bounce around this galaxy so often that it’s hard to . . . schedule a meeting.”

He hadn’t realized Beerus was keeping tabs on him. “I’m here now.”

“Yes, with Prince Vegeta visiting that Earth planet, you are required to remain to safeguard this world.”

Trunks nodded. Beerus was correct about some of what was happening. He was off-planet participating in missions an patrols on behalf of the empire; however, Goku was also a super saiyan, and perfectly capable of defending the planet. Truthfully, the only reason he was here was because Renkon’s family had pulled some strings to get him back on the planet for some reason.

The admiral was the scion of one of the most powerful families, but was entirely uninterested in family duty. Trunks didn’t think they would ever be friends, and the man still watched him, as though Trunks were some puzzle to be solved, but for the most part, their relationship had settled into something that at least resemble respect.

“I felt after all you did to save this planet, I should do you the courtesy of informing you that I will be destroying it within the hour,” Beerus said and Trunks’ attention shifted instantly.

“Wh—What?” he asked. “Why?”

The destroyer shrugged indifferently. “Saiyans are far more trouble than they're worth. They can’t even follow my orders.”

“And the arcosians did?” Trunks asked belligerent.

Beerus smiled. “Not well, I admit, but Frieza knew to at least fear me enough to complete his assignments. Your . . . grandfather can not claim the same.”

“The arcosians wiped out thousands of worlds,” he argued. “You can’t wish to be alone in your universe.”

“It would certainly make my naps less problematic,” Beerus said as he stuck his finger in his ear, scratching at it.

Trunks grimaced before his mind latched onto something. “But . . . how would you discover new things to eat?”

“Eat?” Beerus asked, suddenly interested before shrugging. “I’d rather not. I’ve had saiyan cuisine inflicted on me before.”

“Yes, but there are many Earth influences within the palace now—including on the food.”

Beerus raised a brow. “Fine. Provide me this cuisine and I will consider sparing your planet—for now.”

Trunks nodded quickly before putting his fingers on his forehead and picturing a location. He appeared in the Capsule Corp. facility, but more specifically in the Briefs’ personal kitchen.

“Oh my!” his grandmother breathed out in surprise as she held a steaming tray of cookies just pulled from the oven. He looked around and headed immediately for the pantry, pulling the door open and grabbing a massive case of his secret weapon.

“Trunks?” he heard behind him and turned around.

“Hey!” Bulma yelled as she spotted his ill-gotten gains. “That’s my stash!”

“Sorry Bulma—It’s life or death!” he said quickly before spotting Mrs. Briefs rushing towards him.

“You can’t leave without a doggie bag!” the woman said quickly as she shoved a warm bag of cookies into his hand. “Grandma loves you!”

He smiled without thinking. “Love you too!” he said before putting his fingers back on his forehead and disappearing. Beerus was thankfully still all but laying on the sofa when he returned an the prince sighed in relief.

“This had better be the greatest food I’ve ever had,” the destroyer grumbled as he examined his nails boredly.

“It is, Lord Beerus!” he said quickly before placing the bag of cookies on a table and shredding the cellophane that held the precious ramen packages together.

“Just another few minutes,” he said quickly as he took a water pitcher from another table. His put his hand below it and let a bit of his power loose. The glass heated and within seconds the water was boiling inside the container. He poured some of the water into the styrofoam tub and sealed it again. By the time he’d turned around, the cookie bag ha somehow made its way to Beerus’ lap and the purple creature was busy pigging out on the still-gooey confections.

Dammit, he’d wanted to eat those . . .

Five minutes passed with agonizing slowness, but he was quick about adding the flavors and spices to the tub and mixing it up with a set of chopsticks. He handed the steaming disposable container over.

Beerus took an experimental sniff. “This . . . This is what you expect to use to save your planet?”

“Please just . . . just try it.”

Beerus didn’t seem impressed but he did indeed grasp on to the noodles and pull them into his mouth. He blinked several times before a large toothy grin split over his face. “How magnificent!” he declared before shoving more of the noodles down his throat.

“The delicate broth and silky texture! It’s utterly divine!”

He slurped more and more and Trunks immediately handed off the next bowl as the first was finished. And then another . . . and another.

Seven bowls later, the destroyer god was laid back in his seat, his distended belly gurgling slightly as he patted it.

“That was—I can’t even describe it,” Beerus said contentedly.

“So . . . you’ll spare the planet.”

“I suppose I can put off your species extinction for a few more generations,” the god said dismissively.

“That’s very generous of you,” Trunks said.

Beerus watched him for a second. “I will be back for more of this. Make sure you’re ready.”

“We’ll be well stocked for your visit, I promise.”

The destroyer god nodded before looking beyond Trunks. “You’ll be needed soon. To be honest, even if I don’t destroy this world, there is someone closeby that will do it for me.”

Trunks balked. “I won’t let that happen.”

“Perhaps not—perhaps you’ll pull the metaphorical rabbit out of the hat,  but I know you’ve sensed the looming power of the enemy headed your way.”

“It—It comes and goes. It explodes with power and then disappears.”

“Yes, almost like your own power.”

Trunks was about to respond when there was a furious knock on the door. “Prince Trunks, the king is urgently summoning you!”

“You’d better take care of that,” Beerus said gravely before floating up and out through the balcony, probably to find Whis and whatever other food that could be had.

Trunks shoved the cat-like god from his mind as he followed behind the guard and soon entered the throne room.

 

* * *

 

The prince was used to mingling with saiyans and other sentients, but humans were like nothing he’d ever encountered before. They were insolent and rude, completely oblivious of their own inferiority, and convinced that since he was marrying a human woman, that he somehow had some fondness for the race as a whole.

“Your people are stupid,” he said to Bulma as his eye twitched.

The woman rolled her eyes. “They want to get to know you.”

“They invade my personal space and  _ touch _ me as though they have the right—with you standing there—the disrespect!”

“Thank you for not blasting them,” Bulma said gravely as she patted his shoulder.

They were still surrounded by well-wishers as this was their engagement party. His woman wore a . . . a gown. He’d never seen her in such a thing—had rarely seen the clothing style at all. Saiyans certainly did not favor them, and Vegeta rarely left the planet.

When he’d seen her in the cascade of pink and pale eggshell, he’d had to shake himself from his stupor. She was fully covered,  _ technically _ . The gown was high necked and long sleeved, but there was a translucence to it, and an underlying shade of peach that could only be her skin showing through the elaborate beading and embroidery.

He was about to respond when one of his guards approached him holding a scouter. 

“Report from Vegeta-sei.”

“Now?” he asked with a raised brow.

The guard nodded but said nothing else.

He took the scouter and looked towards Bulma. “I will be back in a few minutes.”

She in inclined her head in understanding and he left her. The prince headed for one of the balconies and stepped out into the night air. It was not blisteringly hot inside but the temperature difference was noticeable.

His guards would keep unwanted humans from accosting him while he received whatever report was so important that his mate’s party had been interrupted. He raised the scouter up to ear an pressed it over the skin. 

“This is Prince Vegeta,” he said.

“Reports incoming of a distress signal from Arcosia.”

“Arcosia? Why am I being informed of a ploy?”

“The signal ceased after thirteen minutes and no communications are being detected from the planet.”

“None?”

“No sire.”

“Other planets have been destroyed,” he said as his mind flitted back to Kaind.

“Probe data shows the planet is still in existence; however . . .”

“What?”

“Life signs have all disappeared.”

He was about to respond when the door to the balcony opened. The prince’s brow furrowed. No one was allowed out there. The guard should have stopped—-

He spotted a familiar mop of blonde hair.

“Course of action,” he said simply.

“Prince Trunks is being dispatched with Admiral Renkon’s division to investigate.”

He wanted to refute the order. The empire had no business sending a prince on such a dangerous mission; however, he also understood that if this was a truly powerful threat; a super saiyan might be the only being capable of victory.

“Keep me informed,” he said as he eyed the blonde woman.

“Yes, sire.”

Vegeta hit the comm button, disconnecting the communication before turning his attention fully towards Tights.

“Are you only marrying my sister because you got her pregnant?” she asked bluntly. The Prince tilted his head as he examined the human. She was wrapped in a pretty formal gown and holding a champagne flute as she raised a brow in his direction. “Bulma hasn’t told our parents but she told me.”

“My relationship with her is none of your concern.”

“She’s my little sister, and she plays the tough act, but all her life, all she really wanted was to be with someone. She went the four corners of this planet in search of the perfect boyfriend.”

“Which should tell you that this planet simply wsn’t able to fulfill that wish,” he said matter of factly. “She had to come to my world to find someone worthy of her.”

Tights snorted at his arrogance. “All I’m saying is, you don’t have to marry her because of a kid. If you’re just going to make each other miserable; co-parenting is a thing.”

Vegeta’s face flattened. Co-parenting . . . He may have never heard of the term, but he could guess at its meaning. The prince reached up and unlatched his collar. He could see the way her brow furrowed in confusion at the gesture. The prince pulled the fabric away to reveal the scarred over mark at the base of his throat.

“Do you see this, woman?”

“You have a scar. Big deal,” she said dismissively.

The skin beneath his eye twitched. “This scar was left by your sister.”

“Oh!” she said as she pulled a disturbed face. “Gross, I do not need to know about y'all’s kinky sex—”

“You humans!” he said disgustedly, interrupting her. “You mark each other with rings and sheets of paper, but truly what do they mean?  _ Nothing. _ They mean nothing but the value you place on them. This mark though . . . this mark is permanent—biological. It is the mixing of our DNA and physical connection between two people.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “That’s . . . that’s not the way it works.”

“Perhaps not for humans,” the prince replied with a tilt of his head. “But it is the way of my people. Bulma and I exchanged marks long before a child was conceived. The son she carries was  _ planned _ for.”

“A son?” she asked dubiously. “It’s too early to know if it’s a boy or girl.”

“I have every confidence in my words,” he said simply. 

“And your people are okay with you marrying Bulma?”

Vegeta didn’t allow any doubt to cross his face. “I have the approval of the king. I care little for the opinions of others. Your sister is my choice and will be a queen one day.”

“So that mark means you can’t be with anyone else?” she asked skeptically.

He grimaced. “It means that while we both live, we will be together. If either of us were to die, then the one left behind could technically take another mate, though it would be quite a while.”

The human was quiet for a few moments. “It's not like that for humans. They cheat,” Tights said as her eyes moved to something over his shoulder. He turned and caught sight of what she was looking at.

Bulma had apparently also left the party, and she stood in the garden below, but she wasn’t alone. A man with dark hair that resembled a saiyan in many way stood with her. There was ample space between the pair, but there was a distinct sense a familiarity behind the ease of their stances.

He barely noticed as Tights walked away and reentered the party. The prince was focused on the human male speaking to his mate. He was a fair distance from the pair but his saiyan hearing had no trouble picking up the conversation.

The male’s lips were tight. “Seriously, Bulma? You told me again and again that you weren’t ready to get married. You told me it didn’t feel right, but you leave for a year and come back with—with  _ him _ ? A fiance?”

“Yamucha, it’s not like that,” she said, her tone patient.

The man’s nostrils flared. “Everyone is saying you’re pregnant—is that true?”

“Whether I am or not is no one’s business!”

He sighed and looked away. “So it is true . . . all those years telling me you weren’t ready for kids. I—I had a ring for you, and now . . . now you’re wearing that?”

He pointed to the dark band on Bulma’s hand, and Vegeta tilted his head as he watched. He was tempted to go down there and dispatch the human, but Bulma might not be so appreciative of the gesture, however well intended it was.

This human . . .  _ Yamucha _ . Vegeta was aware of his mate’s previous lover. Their history had been outlined in the background search the king had done on Bulma before the prince had ever even met her. This was a fame hungry weakling that had latched onto Bulma during their younger years and had never let go. 

She’d briefly spoken of the human in the dark of night a time or two. Things tended to slip out of her when she was boneless in a post orgasmic bliss.

“I didn’t know sex could be like . . like that,” she’d breathed.

“Your pathetic human males can’t compare to a saiyan’s stamina,” he’d said smugly.

“I suppose not . . . but then there was only ever the one . . . human . . .” her words trailed off as she dropped to sleep. 

_ One human, eh? This human, _ he thought. This was the only man other than himself to touch her. The thought alone made him ache to send a targeted beam in the other male’s direction. A clean quick shot that would put  _ Yamucha _ out of his misery before he could take another breath.

Somehow the idea of her only being with  _ one _ male for years irritated him more than the idea of her partaking in several men. She’d obviously felt strongly for this man if she’d remained utterly faithful to him for the majority of her adult life.

“Bulma, please. Even if this is some kind of thing for Capsule Corp—you don’t have to marry him.”

He didn’t have to see Bulma’s face to know she’d probably turned red in indignation. “Jesus, Yamucha! I’m not marrying him for a fucking business contract. He’s going to be my husband.”

The human man looked stricken, and then his eyes went wide in desperation. “This is about Goku, isn’t it?”

Bulma blinked stupidly before exploding.  _ “What?” _

“You wanted him,” the human male began, swallowing awkwardly. “You wanted him but Chichi got to him first. He’s a saiyan right? You couldn’t have Goku so you just picked another one just like him.”

“Trust me, Yamucha, Vegeta is nothing like Goku,” she said, her voice  _ saturated _ with exasperation.

He shook his head. “But you obviously wanted a saiyan. Us humans not doing it for you?”

The woman sucked her teeth in irritation. “You know what? This was never about Goku or humans or saiyans—this is about  _ you _ and your selfish bullshit that I put up with for almost a decade! I didn’t invite you to my wedding to rub it in your face! I invited you because I thought we were friends—you fucking moved on the second you moved out! Why aren’t you letting me?”

He reached out, taking her hand into his own. “Bulma . . . wasn’t it always us? Sure we went different directions occasionally and took a few wrong turns but we always ended up in the same place—together.”

“We’re not in the same place anymore Yamucha. We haven’t been for a long time. Vegeta . . . he’s the kind of person who is  . . . focused. On his power, his training, but also . . . me. You were always focused on us, but never on me.”

“Bulma, I . . . I can fix it. I can be a better guy.”

The woman shook her head as she pulled her hand free. “It’s too late Yamucha. I’m getting married in a few days. He’s going to be my husband and I’m going back to Vegeta-sei.”

Yamucha said nothing for awhile. He stood there with his shoulders slumped in defeat. Bulma watched her former lover silently, but eventually she began to turn away to leave.

“Everyone always called you a princess,” the man whispered, halting Bulma’s movements. “Trust you to find an actual prince to make that happen.”

The woman hesitated, but turned back to face Yamucha. “I sort of wish he wasn’t a prince, to be honest . . . life would be simpler if he wasn’t, but . . . he belongs there and I . . . I made my choice already.”

The man sighed tiredly. “You’ll come back, though, right? You and Goku?”

“We’ll come to visit,” Bulma said after a second or two. “I . . . I want my kids to see this place, too.”

The word ‘kids’ seemed to drain the last of the fight out of the male. “I’ll . . . I’ll be there for your big day . . . and I wont—I won’t make it tough for you.”

“Thank you, Yamucha,” Bulma said quietly before heading back inside to the party.

The prince raised a brow as he watched the human male stumble away through the garden, but a sound behind him shifted his attention.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop, Vegeta,” Kakarot said as he landed beside him.

“Then why were  _ you _ listening as well?”

“I was worried.”

Vegeta looked over. He didn’t think Kakarot was worried about the human male which meant . . .

“I’m not the type to kill my mate’s ex lover—no matter how pathetic he is,” the prince said with an indifferent wave of his hand.

“I know how you are about Bulma . . . especially when people touch her.”

“Hnnn . . . and this business about you and she?” Vegeta asked as he looked up at his companion.

Kakarot shook his head. “I never thought of Bulma that way . . . I never thought of any girl that way—not till Chichi.”

Vegeta looked away. He was hardly surprised by  _ that _ revelation. Head injury or not, Kakarot was a saiyan—they were attracted to power and these soft humans simply lacked it. His companion’s mate was perhaps the strongest female on the planet, but she could hardly have forced Kakarot into anything he didn’t truly want. It was interesting, however, that he’d made the decision to sire a child with his woman, though. 

But then, perhaps that had been an accident—the end result of a saiyan with no education on the biology of their species.

“You should never have been raised on this planet, Kakarot.”

“Aww . . . it’s not so bad. In another life you decided to stay here too.”

He looked towards the other saiyan sharply. “So you’ve known this whole time.”

“Most of it,” Kakarot said sheepishly. “Trunks isn’t really the most um . . . sharing of people, but he told me a few things. When you came here and I saw you for the first time—when I felt your power . . . it made sense that he was your son.”

As compliments went, Vegeta was sort of surprised. He hadn’t been nearly the level then that he was now, but Kakarot didn’t seem to think anything of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter was a total mess when I started working on it—truthfully, it's probably still a total mess, but at least it's legible.


End file.
